For a Friend
by laced-with-fire
Summary: A girl from the past appears and asks Athos for help. In an effort to stop the others finding out anything else about his past, he tries to help her on his own but as usual not everything goes to plan.
1. Chapter 1

**Sadly the Musketeers aren't mine, I'm just borrowing them.**

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The sun shone bright and cold as Porthos and Aramis made their way through the streets of Paris, thus far their day had been uneventful.

"C'mon, let's go back; see if Athos has anything more interesting to do." Porthos made to turn back towards the Musketeer garrison.

"Not yet." Aramis put a hand on his friends' arm. "We have company." His dark eyes flicked back in the direction they had come from and Porthos did not need any other explanation. They turned into a small side street; both listening for the footsteps that they knew would follow.

They did not have to wait long; both men slipped into the shadows as soft footfalls sounded in the street. A moment later a hooded figure moved furtively past where Porthos stood. He stepped out of the shadows behind the figure as Aramis stepped out in front, blocking the way. The figure cried out and shied away, falling against the wall as the two men closed in.

When they were only a few steps away Aramis stopped short and put a hand out to stop Porthos. The figure was a young woman, her face shadowed by her green hood. He could see dark eyes staring fearfully at him as she cowered against the wall and although she had been following them, he pitied her.

"Easy, easy. Why were you following us?" Aramis' voice was gentle, almost as though he were talking to a skittish horse.

"Please, I'm looking for a Musketeer. I was hoping you would lead me to him." Her voice was desperate.

"There's a lot of Musketeers; which one in particular?"

"Athos, his name is Athos. Please will you take me to him?" The two men glanced at each other and after a moment Porthos nodded.

"Alright, c'mon then."

As they led the girl through the streets, Aramis watched her. She seemed terrified, one hand held her hood up and she had shied away when his hand had brushed her arm. When they finally reached the garrison he was relieved.

As they entered the courtyard they saw D'Artagnan sitting on the bench, he looked up from the gun he was cleaning as Porthos moved towards him.

"Where's Athos?"

"He's with Treville, why?"

"I'm not sure yet." Porthos glanced over his shoulder at the girl. "But I think we'll find out soon." D'Artagnan watched as the big man made his way up the stairs to Treville's office.

Treville and Athos looked up in surprise as Porthos burst his way through the door. He glanced apologetically at the Captain before turning to his friend.

"Athos, there's a girl here; she wants to see you."

"You charged in here to bring Athos a mistress?" Treville was incredulous.

"I don't have a mistress." Athos frowned in confusion.

"Then what s going on?" Treville's voice was low and dangerous.

"Only one way to find out." Athos turned and made his way out of the door, followed by Porthos and Treville.

As Athos made his way down the stairs he looked across the courtyard at the girl standing with Aramis. It took him only a moment to recognise her, even though he had not seen her in years.

"Clara." His voice echoed across the courtyard and he almost leapt down the last few steps.

"Athos." Aramis moved back as the girl leapt past him and ran across the courtyard, her breath coming in short gasps of relief.

They all watched as Athos caught her in his arms, holding her close for a moment before taking her shoulders and looking searchingly at her. He frowned as he lifted his hands to her hood and pushed it down. She didn't move as he placed one hand on her jaw and turned her head to the side; as he did, they all caught sight of the dark bruise that marked her cheek, an angry red cut in the centre of it. Athos gently ran a finger along the edge of the bruise and took a deep breath before pulling the girl to him and holding her close.

As Aramis watched, he saw anger burning in his friends' blue eyes.

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**Short first chapter, let's see how it goes.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Well here we are, next chapter. Thank you fariedragon and Team-Jazz for the reviews.**

**I don't own the Musketeers, Clara however is mine.**

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"What happened?" Athos had sat Clara at the table and the others, including Captain Treville had gathered round, curious about this girl and the uncharacteristic tenderness she seemed to inspire in their friend. She looked across at where he stood, dipping a cloth into a bowl of water.

"There's a group of men who come to the village, they steal things, food mostly. If anybody tries to stop them then they kill them." She flinched as Athos brushed the cut on her cheek with the cloth.

"Don't be a baby." His admonishment was gentle. She glared sideways at him but did not move again as he tended to her injury. "When did this start?"

"About a year after you left. They started raiding the storehouses at night; then they grew more bold and started coming during the day." She paused for a moment. "They've grown more cruel, too."

"How so?" Athos had finished bathing the cut and now stood with his arms folded across his chest.

"They only used to hurt anyone who tried to stop them, but not anymore, they and their leader have become more brutal and vicious with each raid."

"And does he have a name, this leader?"

"Bertrand."

Treville looked across at Athos; as soon as the girl had mentioned the name of the leader, the musketeers' hands clenched into fists against his arms and his jaw was clenched in anger. In that moment he made a decision and rose from the bench.

"Athos." The captain knew that he did not have to say anything else. He turned and made his way up the stairs to his office. Athos looked at Clara once more before following the captain.

In his office Treville turned to Athos, watching him carefully.

"What's going on?" He saw Athos take a deep breath as though gathering his thoughts.

"Clara lives in one of the villages on what used to be my estates. I banished the man attacking the village."

"And you want to help her." It wasn't a question; Treville could see what was in the other mans' thoughts.

"Her plight is my doing. You saw the mark they left her, it could have been worse and next time it might be." His voice was steady, as always but his eyes showed pain and guilt. Treville sighed.

"Alright, I can spare you for a few days. Take the others and go and deal with this." Treville raised an eyebrow as Athos' shoulders stiffened. "What?"

"Sir, with all due respect, I can deal with this. I don't need them to come with me."

"Athos, you may be the best swordsman in the regiment but even you can't deal with a group of bandits on your own." Treville knew there was a reason for this request; Athos wasn't stupid or prone to ridiculous displays of bravado.

Athos wrestled with himself, he didn't want to explain his reasons but he knew he had to give the captain something. After a moment he came to a decision. Telling the captain was better than the alternative.

"Sir, they already know more than I would wish about my past. I would rather they did not have the chance to find out any more." Treville sighed, as the captain he probably knew more about Athos than the other musketeers but he would be the first to admit that he knew very little about the man. After a moment longer he sighed again and nodded.

"Alright, you can go on your own. Just don't do anything stupid." Relief showed clearly in Athos' eyes as he nodded his thanks and left.

While Athos had been talking to Treville, the others had sat in silence, each with an eye on the girl. She sat quietly, gazing into the cup of water that had been given to her.

Out of the corner of his eye, Aramis studied her. She was attractive certainly; dark hair fell in ruffled waves down her back and the dark bruise across her cheek only highlighted how pale her skin was, like marble. He wondered who she was, he reckoned her to be in her early twenties so she was certainly old enough to be Athos' mistress. But then again, he had never known Athos to have a mistress and he had certainly not greeted her like one.

Porthos looked at the girl as she stared into her cup, there was an air of sadness about her and something in her eyes spoke of loss. He had seen looks like that in the Court of Miracles; the desperate look of people who had lost everything and had only sadness left. But if he was right, this girl hadn't lost everything just yet.

D'Artagnan gazed at the girl, studying the bruise on her cheek and remembering Athos' reaction to it. This bruise looked to have been caused by a violent backhanded blow; they had all seen women with similar bruises before, violent husbands were all too common. Although a mark on a woman angered them all as it should all men of honour, this was different. The rage in the elder musketeer's eyes had spoken of something far deeper than just a man of honour.

The sound of a door opening and footsteps on the stairs pulled them all from their thoughts and Aramis, Porthos and d'Artagnan looked up as Athos came back down the stairs. They all had questions in their eyes.

"Athos..." Aramis stood.

"You three." Treville appeared at the top of the stairs. "My office, now. Athos, go, you leave tomorrow."

Athos nodded and offered his hand to Clara; she took it and with a last look at the others, followed him from the courtyard.

Treville paced back and forth for a moment before turning to face the three men, his frustration obvious. They knew better than to provoke him and stood straight and still, waiting for him to speak.

"Athos is going back with the girl to deal with these bandits, he leaves tomorrow."

"Not on his own?" Aramis frowned.

"He insisted."

"Then he's an idiot." Porthos crossed his arms as the captain glared at him.

"And that is why you three are going to follow him when he leaves. Give him half a day and stay out of sight."

"But if he doesn't want us to go with him..." D'Artagnan paused.

"I don't care what he wants; if he does this then he's going to get himself killed. Just keep him out of trouble." The captain paused. "Go and see him first, try and convince him to let you go. Don't be surprised if he says no; he's not himself." He turned away, dismissing them and they filed out of the room.

Athos had led Clara through the streets of Paris to his lodgings. He had seen the small frown when she had spotted the empty bottles next to his bed and the bucket of water on the ledge ready to freeze. She had a small satchel with her which she had set down and now her dark eyes followed him as he paced back and forth, waiting for him to speak.

"Why didn't you come to me earlier? I told you to find me if you needed anything." He was angry, more at himself than her but also at the monster that had terrified and marked her.

"Mama forbade it; she said you wouldn't want to come back and we shouldn't bother you. Every time they raided I asked her again and every time she said no. She stopped me coming to see you when you came back before."

"So why now?" He watched as her eyes filled with pain. When she spoke, her voice was quiet.

"Because on the last raid they ensured that I would no longer have to ask her."

"Not your mother?" She nodded sadly and Athos sat down heavily on the chair. He was horrified; Clara's mother had always treated him as though he was her own and he had left her to be murdered.

He heard Clara's soft footfalls as she moved across the room and felt her gentle hand on his shoulder.

"It's not your fault."

"How can you say that? I left you." He rose and started to pace the room again. She stood and watched him.

"You didn't set them on us and you couldn't have known what would happen." Her tone stopped him pacing and he looked at her. She stood with her arms folded and a no nonsense expression on her face, just as her mother had once done. "You didn't start this so stop torturing yourself and start thinking about what to do."

"I may not have started it, but I intend to finish it."


	3. Chapter 3

**Well here we go, next chapter. Thank you to dg101 for the review on chapter 2.**

**Sadly they're not mine, just borrowing.**

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The sun was beginning to slip low in the sky, sending early evening rays into the little room. Athos sat in the chair and watched Clara as she slept in his bed, memories flowing through his mind.

_Clara pinned against a wall, tears running down her face. Bertrand standing over her; one hand gripping her throat and the other fumbling at her dress. The rage that had followed and banishing the man from his lands._ Athos put his head in his hands, his thoughts and memories chasing round in circles. Eventually he slipped into an uneasy sleep.

A light knock on the door woke Athos and he shook his head to clear it before making his way across the room. When he opened the door he was unsurprised to find Aramis and Porthos in the hallway, with d'Artagnan standing not far behind them.

"Treville told us what you're planning." Porthos looked unimpressed.

"This is my own affair to deal with."

"But not on your own. Athos you're walking blindly towards death if you do this." Aramis could not believe what he was hearing. Athos shook his head.

"No, this is something I have to do. Please let me be." Athos was relieved when they nodded and Porthos reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Alright, be careful." As Athos nodded and closed the door they turned and made their way from the house. They were out on the street before Porthos spoke again. "He's going to do something stupid isn't he?"

"I believe so." Aramis sounded almost resigned and turned to face them both. "He'll most likely leave early tomorrow. We'll watch the road and then follow after a few hours. I don't want to give him half a day." The others nodded and headed away to their own rooms.

Athos watched from the window as his friends stood for a moment in the street before heading their separate ways. He knew they only wanted to help him and that they were confused by his refusal to talk to them but his fear of them finding out even more about him was greater than his wish to keep his friends happy. As he watched he could tell they were planning something and thought quickly. It took him only a few moments to come to a decision.

He turned and hurried across the room and knelt to pick up his weapons, reaching across to shake Clara's shoulder. She woke with a start and sat up, fixing him with dark eyes.

"Clara, we have to leave now." She nodded, not questioning him and reached down to pick up her satchel. Athos pulled on his travelling cloak and placed Clara's over her shoulders before taking her arm and leading her out onto the streets.

Athos led Clara briskly back toward the garrison and they slipped into the stables just as the sun was setting. The groom looked down from the hayloft, his surprise when he recognised Athos was clear.

"Sir?"

"Saddle one of the spare horses." Athos' tone brooked no argument and the groom scrambled down to the saddle rack. Athos quickly lifted his own saddle from the rack and moved swiftly to his horse. The animal regarded him with liquid eyes and whickered softly, recognising his master.

It took only a few moments to have both horses ready. Athos tied on the last saddlebag and turned to the groom.

"Shut the gate behind us." He was satisfied when the man nodded. He turned and helped Clara mount, glad that he and Thomas had taught her to ride. With a last look at the groom he mounted his own horse and turned his head towards the gate, kicking his heels in.

The groom watched as the two horses clattered away over the cobbles before shaking his head and shutting the gate.

D'Artagnan woke before dawn; he lay quietly for a moment before rolling from the bed and reaching for his clothes.

When he made his way downstairs he found Constance already there, a basket of fresh bread in her arms. She stopped in surprise when she saw him.

"You're up early." She looked at him, noting the bag he had in his hand.

"Leaving early I'm afraid."

"Where to?"

"I can't say." He shook his head apologetically.

"Well for how long?"

"I don't know."

Her lips pressed together in a frown and she slammed the basket onto the table, pulling a loaf from it as she did so. She turned and threw the bread at him; d'Artagnan just managed to catch it. She had thrown it hard and he reminded himself never to provoke her if there were things she could throw nearby. He nodded his thanks and slipped the bread into his bag. He saw her eyes soften a little.

"Just stay out of trouble." Her voice was almost pleading and he smiled at her.

"Unlikely." He did not see her eyes grow sad as he turned and slipped out of the door.

The boy made his way towards the Musketeer garrison, intending to pack his saddlebags and be ready to watch the road with the others.

Inside the stables d'Artagnan stopped. Where Athos' horse should have been there was a stable boy, sweeping at the hay. The groom was just closing the door of another empty stall.

"Where is Athos' horse?"

"He took it, Sir; along with another for the lady."

"When?" The man hesitated and d'Artagnan strode towards him. "When?" His shout seemed to spur the grooms' thoughts.

"Last night, not long after I had them all settled." D'Artagnan thought quickly, he knew when the groom settled the horses.

"Saddle the horses that belong to Porthos and Aramis, now." The groom and stable boy leapt into action, not daring to question him.

D'Artagnan rode to the gate, leading the other two horses. He stopped short when he nearly ran into Treville at the gate. The captain glared at him.

"I told you to give him half a day..."

"He's gone, Sir; last night." The boy saw realisation in the captain's eyes.

"Alright, follow him, bring him home safe. When you do, I've a mind to kill him myself." D'Artagnan nodded and turned the horses away, clattering across the cobbles. "God speed, lad." The captain's voice was quiet, heard only by the stable boy.

"Aramis." D'Artagnan pulled his horse up outside the window of Aramis' lodgings, shouting at the top of his voice. A moment later the window opened and Aramis looked out.

"D'Artagnan, what..."

"Athos is gone; he and Clara left last night." Aramis did not wait to hear more; he vanished from the window and appeared moments later, pushing his hat onto his head. Quickly he swung himself onto his horse and they turned the animals towards where Porthos lived.

"Porthos." Aramis' voice cut through the early morning. He did not have to shout for long; the door of the house flew open and Porthos came running out onto the street. He took one look at the scene in front of him and sighed. As he mounted his horse he turned to Aramis.

"I told you he'd do something stupid." He turned to D'Artagnan. "When did he sneak off?"

"The groom said he came to the stables just after the horses were settled." The others looked sharply at him.

"That means he left almost as soon as we left him alone." Aramis frowned.

"Which means he has a whole nights head start." Porthos' voice was almost a growl as they turned their horses and galloped towards the city gates.

On the dirt road outside the city they stopped, it did not take them long to spot the tracks of two horses, riding hard.

"We're gonna have to ride fast to catch him." Porthos looked along the road.

"He'll have to stop to rest at some point." D'Artagnan was perplexed when Porthos grinned and shook his head.

"If he's riding fast he won't stop until he pretty much falls from the saddle." He looked at Aramis who nodded in agreement.

"Or until his horse needs to rest." Aramis looked thoughtful for a moment. "Although he might stop if Clara needs to rest."

"Well we'd best hope that she tires easily." D'Artagnan kicked his heels and sent his horse galloping along the road.

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**Well there we go, reviews much appreciated xx**


	4. Chapter 4

**Here we are, hopefully a little more exciting than the last chapter.**

**Musketeers not mine, Clara however is.**

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Athos and Clara rode through the countryside, slowing their pace only to prevent the horses from tiring. They had ridden through the night and had pressed on through the day. As the sun began to set, Athos looked over at Clara; her shoulders were slumped and she swayed in the saddle.

"We'll find somewhere to stop soon." She looked at him and nodded in relief.

They soon found a small grove of trees a little way off the road and walked the horses to a clearing. As they dismounted Athos glanced over at Clara; she had leapt lightly to the ground and was gently stroking the horse's neck.

"Well I'm glad you haven't forgotten how to ride." She smiled in response, not looking away from her horse.

"I haven't forgotten how to shoot, either."

"Well that's something."

They sat on the ground, pulling small amounts of bread and cheese from the saddle bags. After a moment Clara spoke.

"When we get there, what are you planning to do?" She watched as he finished chewing.

"Bertrand is the leader, from what you've said if he dies then the others will run."

"You have to get close to him first."

"No I don't." She followed his gaze to the musket that hung on the saddle and nodded as she understood.

After a few more mouthfuls of food they threw themselves down on the ground to sleep.

Athos woke with a start. His dreams had taken him back to his house as it burned. He had seen her again, her eyes fierce as she had held the blade to his throat. He rose to his feet, glancing at Clara to ensure she still slept. Quietly he made his way to his saddlebags, pulling out one of the bottles of wine.

He sat with his back to a tree and pulled out the stopper, running a hand through his hair as he raised the bottle to his lips and took great gulps; desperate to chase away his dreams.

When Clara woke she saw him still sitting against the tree, the bottle in his hand. As she watched he gulped at the wine and dropped his head to his knees. She rose silently and moved across the small clearing. Athos did not know she had moved until she pulled the bottle from his hands and looked at it, frowning as she saw that it was mostly empty. Athos looked up at her, she was glaring at him.

"Mama always said you drank too much." She watched as he rose to his feet, moving back out of his reach as he grasped for the wine. He was only a little unsteady; after all he hadn't quite managed to drink the whole bottle.

"You don't understand..."

"Oh I understand enough." She strode away in anger before spinning back round to face him. "You have covered yourself in guilt over what happened before you left and now you're drowning your sorrows. Well you can't do that forever."

"I sentenced my wife to die."

"You had no choice." Her eyes softened just a little. "She killed Thomas, you had to do it. Now stop this or I will smack some sense into you myself." He looked at her in surprise, her eyes were blazing and she advanced towards him again.

"You wouldn't." He just managed to catch her wrist before her hand struck his cheek. They stood still for a moment, blue eyes glaring into brown.

"I will if that's what it takes to keep you sober." He watched her anger burn itself out and felt her arm relax in his grip. After a moment more he let her go, but as she reached up to brush her hair from her face he stretched out his hand, taking hold of her wrist once more. She did not resist as he pulled her hand towards him and inspected the livid red mark that was forming on the fair skin of her wrist where it had collided with his hand. He looked at her and raised an eyebrow.

"Just how hard were you going to hit me?" He gave her a wry smile.

"Hard enough." She returned his smile and held up the bottle. "It's a good thing you didn't have any more; you might not have stopped me." As she walked back to the horses, Athos had to admit that she was right. He shook his head and followed her.

Aramis, Porthos and d'Artagnan had ridden hard, following the tracks left by the two horses, stopping only when there was not enough light left to see by. For the most part the tracks were clear and easy to follow; however there were times when one or other of them would have to dismount and look closer at the ground. Porthos and d'Artagnan watched as Aramis crouched on the ground, running a hand over one of the faint hoof prints. When he looked up, his dark eyes were troubled.

"What is it?" D'Artagnan watched as the musketeer fingered the gold cross that hung from his neck.

"He's gained ground."

"How much?" Porthos glared at the road ahead as Aramis vaulted back onto his horse.

"Almost a day ahead of us; they must have travelled for the entire night and carried on through the day." Aramis looked grim as he urged his horse into a swift canter. As the three horses thundered along the road he offered a silent prayer that they would reach Athos before anything happened to him or the girl.

Athos and Clara had ridden for most of the day in silence. Athos was habitually a man of few words and Clara had always been content to humour him; it was partly why he had always liked her. When they did speak, their words were few. Their route had taken them through a dense patch of woodland and the trees seemed to press in on the road. As they walked the horses to rest them Clara looked across at Athos; he was troubled, his eyes darting back and forth.

"What is it?"

"It's too quiet." Slowly he moved a hand to his pistol, intending to be ready should something go amiss.

A moment later something flicked through the air, hitting Clara's horse on the neck. The animal reared high, his front legs kicking at the air and Clara fell with a cry, landing hard on her shoulder. Athos pulled out his pistol and watched the trees, sure that something was wrong. He was relieved when he glanced back at Clara to see her scrambling to her feet and reaching for the bridle of her horse, gently stroking the animals' neck to calm him.

"Are you alright?" She nodded and stooped to pick something up, holding it out so he could see. It was a small stone, smooth, round and as he glanced around, Athos realised it was entirely out of place here.

"That's what hit him." Athos did not get a chance to reply. The air was suddenly filled with shouts as several men ran from the trees on either side waving clubs, axes and knives. He fired his pistol, felling one of them. Before he had a chance to draw his sword some of the others had reached him, he turned the pistol and dealt one of them a vicious blow across the face. He felt hands grasping at him and struggled as they pulled him from his horse. His back hit the ground hard, knocking the breath from him. He kicked out, desperately trying to gain enough space to get to his feet. Several blows landed on his ribs and through the men's shouts he heard Clara scream.

The sound of her distress was enough to give him the extra strength he needed. His hand found his dagger and he managed to drive it into one man's leg while kicking out at another. He felt the knee crack beneath his foot and the man howled in pain before falling to the ground. Athos seized his moment and scrambled to his feet, dispatching another man as he did. As the man fell to the ground Athos' eyes flicked around looking for Clara.

She was a short way away, struggling as a man pinned her to the ground. Another man stood close by and turned, running at Athos. The musketeer drew his sword and readied himself for the charge; the man was huge, easily bigger than Porthos and now running full tilt, a wicked looking knife in each hand. He crashed into Athos, slamming him against a tree. Athos felt the breath go from him and a strange sensation, almost as though he had been punched in the shoulder. He fought to catch his breath and struggled against the big brute's weight. After a moment the man fell away, blood pouring from the wound in his chest where he had run onto Athos' sword.

Clara shouted and Athos ran towards her, as he did he realised that he man on top of her was no longer moving. Quickly he grasped them man and rolled him away from her, noting the knife in his neck and the blood on Clara's hands. She was trembling as he pulled her to her feet and looked around them. Most of the men were dead, but one or two had bolted, sensing that perhaps this was not a fight to be part of. Athos horse stood at the side of the road, gazing at his master. Clara's horse had bolted.

As Clara bent to pick up her satchel from where it had fallen, Athos noticed her wince. She stood up again, gazing at the dead men, one hand on her shoulder.

"Are you alright?" He glanced at her shoulder and she shook her head dismissively.

"It's nothing, just bruises." He moved towards he and she looked as though she might protest. He silenced her with a stern look and she let him move her cloak aside. Gently he pulled her clothing away from her shoulder, exposing the dark bruises that were flowering over the pale skin. She looked away and moved out of his grasp, pulling her dress back up. "See, just bruises." He nodded and she looked at him, her dark eyes sweeping over him.

"What?" Her gaze had fixed on the edge of his shirt where it showed beneath the black leather of his uniform.

"Is that your blood?" She reached him in a few steps and gently pulled his jerkin aside. As she did, Athos became aware of throbbing pain in his shoulder, worse than the rest. He heard Clara's intake of breath and looked down, blood had soaked into his shirt, running down from a wound in his shoulder. Athos thought for a moment, realising the big brute had not just punched him.

"How bad?"

"It needs to be cleaned and closed."

"We need to go on." He caught her look and realised that she would not give in. "Alright, we'll stop as soon as we find somewhere."

"Fine, at least let me wrap it first." She grasped the hem of her cloak and pulled, tearing a strip from the bottom. Quickly she slipped her hands beneath his shirt and wrapped it round his shoulder, pulling it tight. As soon as she had tied the last knot, Athos turned and moved back towards his horse, stooping to pick up his pistol on the way. He climbed into the saddle, pulling Clara up behind him and waiting only long enough to feel her wrap her arms around him securely before kicking the horse into a fast canter.

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**Hope you liked :-)**


	5. Chapter 5

**Well here's the next chapter, hope you like it.**

**Funnily enough, the Musketeers don't belong to me.**

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They had ridden for a few hours and the pain in Athos' shoulder had grown steadily worse. Although he had tried to keep the horse at a good pace he found he could not withstand the jolting of a canter and had slowed to a walk. Clara could feel his deep, measured breaths as he fought against the pain and dizziness that threatened to overcome him. She was thankful when they at last came to what looked like a small barn at the roadside. Although it was still intact it looked to have been abandoned. Clara slipped down from the saddle, landing lightly on the ground and making her way into the barn. Athos followed slowly, grimacing as his feet hit the ground and set his shoulder throbbing; for a moment he leant on his horse, gritting his teeth before leading the animal into the barn.

The sun was setting and the golden rays shone through a window high in the wall. Clara had found some old lanterns; she lit them and placed them next to a pile of straw that sat against one wall. Athos felt her eyes follow him as he tied the horse and pulled the saddle from its back. She stood and he looked over at her.

"Sit down." He knew that there was no point in arguing with her and made his way over to where she stood. Carefully he lowered himself onto the straw, setting his back against the wall and closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again she was crouched in front of him, clutching her satchel, a bottle of water and a bottle of wine. She tore several strips from her cloak and laughed quietly.

"There won't be anything left of this cloak by the time you're done."

"My apologies, Mademoiselle, I shall endeavour not to take any further injuries and deprive you of your cloak." His mock formality made her smile and laughed softly before reaching out towards him.

He watched as she deftly undid his belt and put his weapons to one side. Her fingers fluttered lightly over his chest as she undid the buttons on his jerkin and pushed it open. She leant forwards and slipped an arm round his back, he did not resist as she pulled him towards her and gently slipped the jerkin off of his shoulders and free of his arms. She placed it to one side and took hold of the bottom of his shirt, carefully easing him out of it and noting as he winced with every movement. She frowned as she noted the fresh blood that had soaked through the makeshift bandage and the bruises across his ribs.

He bit back a grunt of pain as she pulled off the bandage; careful as she was she could not prevent the movement from opening the wound again and rivulets of fresh blood ran down his chest. Clara placed one hand firmly on his chest, the tips of her fingers brushing the chain of his locket. She looked up at him, holding his gaze and he felt her increase the pressure of her hand on his chest. He was unprepared when she picked up the wine and poured half of it onto his shoulder. He lost his normal composure and shouted as the wine flowed over his wound, struggling against her hand for a moment. When he had calmed down she released him.

"Don't be a baby." He glared at her and she handed him the bottle. He lifted the bottle to his lips and took several gulps as she picked up a strip of fabric and cleaned away the blood and wine. She reached into her satchel and pulled out a needle and thread, he winced as she began to sew up his wound.

"If I didn't know better I would say you were enjoying this." She smiled briefly, not looking up.

"I'm enjoying being able to fix this. It's not usually that simple with you."

"I'm surprised you still try." He hissed in pain as she deliberately pulled hard on the thread and glared at him.

"You never understood did you? You always believed that Thomas was everyone's favourite." He looked at her, puzzled and she tied off the thread, cutting it and sitting back on her heels for a moment before reaching out to wrap his shoulder in a fresh strip of cloth. "When Thomas died I mourned him and I wept. But not half as much as I wept the day that you left." She tied the bandage and picked up another strip of cloak before pouring water onto it. When she spoke again, her voice was quiet. "You're not that difficult to feel affection for you know."

He sat puzzling over her words and did not move as she leant forward again and looked at the bruises on his ribs, moving the locket aside and dabbing gently with the cloth. She was relieved to see that the ribs didn't look broken; his jerkin must have protected him from the worst of it. After a moment longer she helped him back into his shirt before easing him back into his jerkin.

"Thank you." He didn't know what else to say and he wasn't entirely certain if he was thanking her for tending to his injuries or for her previous statement that she cared for him.

"That's alright." She went to the saddle bags and pulled out his travelling cloak, bringing it over to him and placing it round his shoulders. "Now get some rest, that's going to hurt more in the morning." She bent to pick up his pistol and sat against one of the walls, resting her arms on her knees. Athos lay on the straw and watched her, suddenly feeling exhausted. Within moments he had slipped into sleep.

Clara sat and listened to the night, the wind blew softly through the trees, blending with soft whickering from the horse and Athos' steady breathing. She was desperately tired but knew that Athos would need rest if he was to be able to ride in the morning. She rested her head on her arms, dozing lightly.

A new sound made Clara jump and she looked up. The moon shone brightly through the window, illuminating the small barn. She listened, her hand reaching for the pistol; after a moment the sound came again and she realised what it was. Clara rose to her feet as Athos moaned again in his sleep. As she moved across the barn he began to thrash in his sleep, mumbling incoherently. Clara hurried over to him, kneeling at his side, he shifted again and she laid a hand on his chest, worried that he might pull the stitches if his dreams became too violent.

"Athos." She shook him and he cried out, his hand grasping her wrist like a vice. She looked at him; his eyes were open but unseeing. "Athos, wake up." Her call seemed to work, he shouted out once more and woke, looking at her in confusion.

"What happened?" He realised that he still held her wrist and released her, ashamed of himself when he saw the marks of his fingers imprinted on her skin.

"You were dreaming." Her gaze was steady as he collapsed back against the straw, wincing at the pain in his shoulder. Gently she placed a hand on his chest, feeling his heart beating fast beneath her fingers. "Go back to sleep." Her light touch soothed him and he slipped back into sleep. Clara felt his heart slow back into a steady beat and sat with her back against the wall to keep watch.

_Thomas had been eight, she was five. He had laughed as they ran through the woods. She had followed him as she always did and trusted him when he had suggested that they cross the river on the fallen tree. The tree had rotted and the trunk had split as she set her foot on it. Thomas had stood frozen in horror as she clung to the tree; her feet dangling just above the fast flowing water. She had held on as he had run away through the trees. After what seemed like an eternity he had returned closely followed by his elder brother. She had looked into his eyes, serious even at ten years old. He had leapt forwards as she lost her grip on the tree and had pulled her from the water. He had wrapped his arms around her, holding her close as she shook with cold and fear..._

A new sound broke Clara from her memory and she looked up, her brow furrowing. Quickly she scrambled back to Athos, his breathing was no longer steady, instead it had become heavy and laboured. For a moment she thought he was dreaming again and placed a hand on his head to calm him. As her fingers brushed his skin she pulled them back, hesitantly she reached out again and laid her fingers on his cheek. His skin was burning.

"Oh no." She reached for the strip of cloth she had used to bathe his bruises and soaked it in water once more, looking at Athos as she did. His skin was covered in a light sheen of sweat and his cheeks were flushed confirming what she had dreaded.

She scrambled back to his side and bathed his head and face with the cloth while wrapping his cloak firmly around him. She hoped that his fever would break if she kept him warm and knew that if she could get him through the night then he would most likely be alright.

As she sat, bathing his head and listening to his ragged breathing Clara knew that there would be no sleep for her that night.

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**Well there we go, pretty please review :-)**


	6. Chapter 6

**Well here's the next one. Thank you to fariedragon, dg101 and INSOMNIAC for the reviews on the last chapter.**

**Musketeers not mine :-(**

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Porthos reined in his horse, pulling it to a halt; the others followed suit, looking at him.

"It's getting dark, we have to stop soon." He looked ahead to where there was a dense patch of woodland and the trees seemed to press in on the road. "Besides, I don't fancy trying that at night."

"You scared of the dark?" Aramis chuckled.

"Shut up." Porthos scowled at his friend and Aramis laughed as he swung down from his horse.

D'Artagnan leapt lightly to the ground and crouched down to look at the tracks in the last of the light. They had ridden hard that day, slowing their pace on occasion rather than stopping to rest the horses. It appeared to have worked; they had gained some ground and were now just over half a day behind. He looked up at the woodland ahead; it gave off an ill feeling and he felt that somehow they would find something there that they did not wish to.

Clara watched Athos as his fever raged; bathing his head and listening as he mumbled in his sleep. His dreams came and went and she soothed him through each one with gentle touches and soft words and as he dreamt she remembered.

_"Keep your arm steady." He leant against the wall of the barn, watching as she aimed the pistol. Thomas stood beside her and reached out a hand to lift her arm a little. It had been ten years since Athos had rescued her from the river and he had taken it upon himself to keep her safe. Initially the solemn boy had seen it as a duty, but in time she had won him over and they had become firm friends. She had been watching the boys practice with their pistols when Athos had turned; offering her the one he had just loaded._

_"Here." He had returned her smile as she scrambled forwards, her hand reaching out for the pistol._

Athos cried out, breaking her from her reverie and she reached a hand towards him. His fever seemed to be breaking but this dream seemed worse than the others and he cried out again, his head tossing from side to side.

"Shh, Athos, hush now." She froze as she heard the unmistakable sound of hoof beats on the road and loud voices. Athos moaned again and Clara looked around desperately as the voices stopped outside the barn. Quickly she placed a hand over his mouth, muffling his moans. With her other hand she picked up the pistol.

She watched as the door rattled and then opened. In the bright moonlight she could see men and the glint of weapons in their hands. One of them stepped forwards and she recognised the man behind him as one of those who had attacked them earlier.

"Well well what have we here?" The one in front smiled; he was young and might have been handsome if it wasn't for the vicious sneer on his face and the cold look in his eyes.

"Don't come any closer." Her hand was steady as she stood and aimed the pistol at him. His gaze dropped past her and his smile broadened.

"A musketeer if I'm not mistaken and his little wench to protect him." The men behind him laughed and he stepped forwards, halting when he saw the look in her eyes.

"Touch him and I'll kill you." She raised her head defiantly and the moonlight illuminated her face, clearly lighting the bruise across her cheek. He looked at her and realisation came into his eyes.

"You're the little bitch Bertrand marked. I think he wants to see you again, your musketeer too." He motioned and one of the other men moved forwards. Clara did not hesitate as she turned the gun towards the man and pulled the trigger. He fell to the floor, his lifeblood bubbling through the hole in his chest. Clara looked at the smirk on the boy's face and stepped back as he moved towards her. She swung the pistol at him and he caught her arm, knocking the pistol to the floor and twisting her arm up between her shoulders. She froze as his other hand closed about her throat.

"Clara." The boy's head turned as he heard the musketeer mumble the name. He felt the girl's head turn towards the sound. He thought for a moment and began to laugh as he realised who he had found. Roughly he pulled the girl around so that she was facing her friend.

"So you're Clara. Bertrand talks about you, the one that got away because you were the favourite. Tell me what his name is."

"No." Clara knew that if Bertrand talked about her then he had most likely mentioned Athos. What they might do if they found out who he was didn't bear thinking about.

The boy jerked his head towards the barely conscious musketeer and one of the men moved forwards, pulling a knife from his belt. He knelt down and pressed the blade against the soldier's throat.

"Tell me, the right name might save him." His hand tightened around Clara's throat.

She looked down; Athos had opened his eyes, pulled back to consciousness by the gunshot. She knew that even if he had been strong enough to struggle, the knife would have stopped him. His breath hitched as the blade broke the skin, leaving a crimson line.

"Athos." Her voice came out as a strangled cry and the boy laughed again.

"Put him on the cart, Bertrand will want him alive. She can walk behind." Some of the men moved towards Athos and the boy dragged Clara from the barn, twisting her wrist viciously. She struggled as he pushed her towards a small cart and pulled a rope from the back of it. He had just finished tying her wrists together and securing the rope to the back of the cart when the other men emerged from the barn. Two of them slung Athos onto the back of the cart and tied his hands, another led his horse, the noble animal tossing its' head as they pulled it along with them.

The sky was just turning to grey as the men made their way along the road, taking their two captives with them.

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**Well there we go, couldn't resist getting them into a spot more bother :-)**


	7. Chapter 7

**Well here's the next one, hope you enjoy it. Thank you to eponay and fariedragon for the reviews :-)**

**Musketeers not mine :-(**

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Aramis woke just as the sky began to turn pale; he rose and made his way over to the horses, checking the animals over carefully to ensure they weren't suffering too much from the hard ride. The air was cold and quiet and as the sun began to shed faint light over the horizon Aramis looked over at the trees ahead, eyeing the black mass of tangled branches.

After a moment he sighed and headed over to where the others lay. He looked over at d'Artagnan; the Gascon boy had just sat up and looked at him sleepily. Porthos was still sprawled on the ground, still slumbering. Carefully, Aramis stretched out a foot and nudged his friend, and quickly leapt back when the big man sat up, swinging his fists.

"One day you'll hurt someone." Aramis smiled as Porthos glowered.

"Only if they're stupid enough to wake me up." Although the retort was grumpy, Porthos rose to his feet and stretched. It did not take them long to ready themselves and after a short while they mounted the horses and made their way towards the trees.

As they rode through the dense woodland, the ill feeling that d'Artagnan had felt remained and try as he might, he could not shake it off. He looked ahead, dark eyes sweeping across the road when he noticed a dark shape. Cautiously he moved a hand to his pistol and urged his horse forwards.

Porthos and Aramis watched the young Gascon reach for his pistol, his gaze focused on something that lay ahead of him. Without making a sound they followed suit, each pulling out a pistol and following their young friend.

They kicked their horses into a trot when they saw d'Artagnan pull his horse up short and leap to the ground.

When the two musketeers reached the boy they saw what had caught his attention; there were several bodies littered around the road. They dismounted and went to join him where he crouched by one.

"Pistol shot to the chest." Aramis inspected the wound, it had been fired from high up and the accuracy showed a trained hand. He rose to his feet and began to look at the other bodies, first making his way over to where some lay together.

"What is it?" Porthos had moved to stand nearby.

"This one died from what I would imagine to be the wrong end of a pistol to the face. The others are all dagger thrusts." He looked up as Porthos studied the ground.

"These tracks here are from the horse the girl was riding, looks like it spooked and bolted." He indicated a different set of tracks with his hand. "These tracks are from Athos' horse, there's plenty of footprints around it. I reckon they pulled him down after he shot the first one." The musketeers looked up as d'Artagnan came towards them, holding something in his hand. When he held it out they saw that it was a knife.

"The big one over there had this in his hand; there's blood on it almost along the entire length of the blade. The other one has his own knife in his neck from the looks of it." Aramis picked up the knife, inspecting it closely before looking at the wounds on the dead men.

"This knife didn't cause these wounds." He looked up at Porthos, his concerns evident in his eyes.

"You reckon one of them was on the wrong end of that knife."

"Yes, but whether it was Athos or Clara is another matter." He looked at the knife again, although the blade wasn't long, it was wide; a short, brutal thing. He tested the edge, it wasn't blunt, but it certainly wasn't sharp. "This knife would have caused a nasty wound; it's too blunt to cut cleanly."

They stood and quickly mounted the horses, carefully picking out the tracks of Athos' horse and cantering down the road. As they rode, the thought that their friend or his charge could have been wounded weighed heavily on each of their minds.

Aramis and d'Artagnan watched as Porthos knelt on the road. He ran a hand over one of the hoof prints and looked back along the way they had come, then on ahead. Finally he stood and mounted his horse.

"They've slowed down. Could be 'cos they're both riding the one horse."

"Or something worse." Aramis frowned and once again offered up a prayer as he kicked his horse into a gallop.

They had only ridden for a short time when they came to the barn, covering distance several times faster than Athos and Clara had. They stopped outside the barn, each looking at the door that swung gently in the breeze. They dismounted and Porthos looked down, his eyes scanning the ground.

"Athos definitely brought his horse in here, looks like they might have had some company though."

Aramis looked at the tracks that his friend had indicated and turned to the barn, carefully drawing his pistol. He paused before entering.

"Athos? Clara?" He hadn't expected them to be there but he had hoped. He glanced back at the others and stepped into the dimly lit barn.

Inside they saw the dark shape of a man sprawled on the ground, blood pooled on the ground beneath him. Aramis felt his heart skip a beat and his blood ran cold, he ran across the barn, the others following. He stopped when he saw the man's face, breathing a sigh of relief. He took a deep breath and looked around the barn, d'Artagnan and Porthos moved off in separate directions, looking for any sign of their friend.

"Look at this." Aramis moved over to where the young Gascon crouched next to a pile of straw. There was a pile of what looked like rags, some empty bottles and a leather satchel. Aramis picked up one of the rags, examining it.

"This looks like the cloak that Clara was wearing."

"Bits of it anyway." D'Artagnan watched as Aramis sniffed at the fabric.

"Blood and wine; looks like they treated the wound." He looked down as something glinted on the ground and picked it up before showing the boy. "A needle and thread, both have blood on them."

"So what do you think?"

"Well as Athos is more likely to cause damage if he tries to sew then I would imagine it was Clara making the stitches."

"Which means Athos was the one on the wrong end of that knife." Porthos had moved over to join them. "There's saddle bags over there, anything useful has gone."

"Here." D'Artagnan reached out and pulled something from beneath the straw. It was an all too familiar pistol; the boy looked at it closely. "It's been fired recently."

"Into that one there by the looks of it." Porthos gazed at the pistol. "He would never have left it behind though."

"Not unless he had to." Aramis' gaze was troubled.

Porthos frowned as he spotted something in the shadows and bent to pick it up. As they saw the belt, sword and dagger there was no doubt in their minds that their friend was in grave danger.

With all the speed they could muster they ran back to the horses and followed the tracks on the road.

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**Well there we go, we'll be back with Athos and Clara in the next chapter, I promise :-)**


	8. Chapter 8

**Well here we go, back with Athos and Clara like I promised. Hope you enjoy :-)**

**Musketeers not mine :-(**

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The men had travelled with their two captives for most of the day. Clara had walked behind the cart, stumbling in exhaustion. Athos lay where he had been thrown on the cart, his mind still fogged from the fever and his shoulder throbbing with every jolt of the road. He felt drained and even the small amount of strength required to sit up had eluded him. He watched Clara as she stumbled again, barely keeping her feet as their captors laughed. She gritted her teeth and met his eyes as the rope bit into her wrists, determined not to give the men the pleasure of seeing her pain.

After what seemed like hours the sky darkened and rain began to fall in great torrents. The men had decided to wait out the storm and had found shelter in the woodland at the side of the road. They had not bothered to untie their captives from the cart but had instead moved away and gathered around a fire that one of them had managed to start. Clara stood for a moment, her head hanging down as she caught her breath. After a few moments she moved forwards and clambered awkwardly onto the cart, managing to kneel next to Athos. He looked up at her, blue eyes full of concern.

"Are you alright?" His gaze dropped to her wrists, blood and bruises showed beneath the ropes.

"As well as can be expected given our circumstances." She reached forwards and managed to push her hands under his back. "Come on." She lifted her hands and eventually managed to help him sit up. He rested his back against the side of the cart and she moved his cloak and jerkin to one side, inspecting his wound as best as she could.

"Well?" Her expression had not given much away. She placed a hand on his head before she answered.

"Well the stitches have held which is nothing short of a miracle and your fever has gone." She put his jerkin and cloak back in place, wincing as the movement rubbed the ropes against her wrists. "Ideally you need a couple of days rest and plenty of food."

"I don't think that's an option." He looked over at the men and she turned, following his gaze.

"No, I'm not sure it is." As she looked over her shoulder one of the men looked up, his face darkening when he caught her gaze. He rose to his feet and strode over to the cart.

"What you looking at?"

"He needs water." Although her gaze was steady, Athos could tell that Clara was scared of the man and rightly so, he lunged forwards and grasped her arm, pulling her from the cart.

"And why would I do that?" He gripped her hair and pulled her close to him, she cried out and struggled.

"That's enough." The man turned, his hand still twisted in Clara's hair. A few paces behind him stood the boy with the cold eyes. "What's going on?"

"Teaching her some manners, Simon. She had the guts to demand water for her friend."

"He needs it if you want him to survive the journey." Clara grimaced in pain, but she had caught the boy's attention and hurriedly continued. "He's wounded and his fever has only just broken; if you want him alive to give to Bertrand then please let me look after him and give him water and food." She watched the boy as he thought over her words. After a moment he smiled, cold and cruel like every other expression on his face.

"Alright, you can have food and water. Make sure he's alive when we get there." He motioned and someone brought over a water skin and small hunk of bread, tossing them onto the cart. Simon's gaze turned to the man who still held Clara. "Let her go."

"But Simon..."

"I said let her go." The cold gaze hardened and the boy turned away knowing that he would not be disobeyed.

The man tightened his grip on Clara's hair for a moment and glared at her before shoving her viciously away from him. She fell back against the cart, and after a few moments stood shakily, steadying herself against the cart. She reached out her hands, moving to climb back onto the cart. She hesitated when she saw Athos' glaze flick over her shoulder. A moment later a hand closed over her arm and she froze; it was Simon. Athos made as though to try and move but Clara shook her head; she did not want him getting hurt any more. Simon laughed; his eyes as cold as ever.

"Best you behave yourself." His hand shifted, his fingers running across her jaw and down her neck. "Tomorrow we reach the caves but until then, let's just say that nights are long and men get bored." Clara's eyes flickered up to meet his and he smiled. When she looked away he picked up a lock of hair from her shoulder and lifted it to his face, breathing deeply before walking away.

When he had gone, Clara stood still, her head down and her breathing ragged as his words sank in. Her eyes darted back and forth in fear and uncertainty and she had started to chew her lip until Athos feared she might draw blood.

"Clara." He called her softly, trying to reach through her fear. It worked and her gaze rose to meet his. He inclined his head, beckoning her towards him.

Athos watched as she climbed unsteadily back onto the cart and knelt beside him; her hands were clasped together and shaking. He reached out and placed his hands over hers, pulling her to him and saying nothing. His grip was strong yet gentle and his hands' enfolding hers was enough to calm her down. After a moment she stopped shaking and her breathing slowed. She looked up, meeting his eyes.

"Are you alright?" She nodded and he quirked an eyebrow at her. "Provoking him was stupid, he could have killed you."

"I don't think the boy would let him, and besides I got what I wanted."

"All the same, I suspect you might pay for it later." Clara glanced quickly over her shoulder, when she looked back her gaze was solemn.

"I think I would have paid at some point anyway." Her voice was quiet, a note of sadness to it. Athos said nothing; he knew what she meant and what Simon had threatened. The thought sickened him.

Clara freed her hands from his and reached for the water skin. He sighed and took it gratefully. They shared the meagre meal; Clara ensuring that Athos got most of the bread. Although the meal was simple it had helped and he felt a little stronger. Suddenly a thought struck him.

"He said caves." Athos looked around, taking in his surroundings for the first time. Although he had not ridden through his estates or the lands surrounding them for a long time he could still remember them. "The only caves here..."

"Are the ones we used to play in." Clara finished his thought, realisation flicking in her eyes.

"That means he's been barely a mile from the village the entire time."

"No wonder they always caught us without warning; they were right next to us." They both sank back into silence, caught in their own thoughts.

The rain continued to fall, soaking them both and Clara shivered, her hair hanging in dark tendrils. She sat back against the side of the cart and rested her head on his shoulder, pressing her body against his. Athos leant into her, both of them seeking comfort and warmth from the other. After a moment she spoke, her voice quiet.

"Perhaps Mama was right."

"How do you mean?"

"She said I shouldn't disturb you; that it would cause trouble. Well if this isn't trouble I don't know what is."

"Well what other options did you have?"

"I should have left you alone. You could have carried on with your life instead of being wounded and tied to a cart with a girl you'd rather forget." Athos looked down sharply, his eyes wide.

"Clara, look at me." She shifted slightly, her dark eyes flickering up to meet is gaze. "You did what you should have done after the first raid; what I told you to do if you ever needed anything." He paused, seeing sadness in her eyes that he had not noticed before. "I have never tried to forget you, I never could. You were the only pure thing in that house of lies."

He stopped, his breathing ragged with the sudden burst of fierce, protective love that he felt for the girl. It was that same he had felt from the moment he had pulled her from the river when he was ten and it was what had driven him to protect her from that day on.

Clara said nothing; she wasn't used to him saying so much in one go and his words were rarely that emotionally charged. His eyes burned with a protective rage that she had only ever seen when either she or Thomas had been in trouble.

Realising that he had shocked her with his outburst, Athos took a breath, steadying himself. He leant down, pressing his head against hers and closing his eyes.

"You are the only thing I regretted leaving behind; I often wondered if I should have taken you with me." She laughed softly, her head still against his, their noses almost touching.

"I'm not sure Mama would have let you."

"You're right, and I'm not sure either of us was brave enough to go against her." Athos took a deep breath, steadying himself to ask the question he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to know the answer to. "What happened in that last raid?" He felt her intake of breath and she shifted, resting her back against the cart. When she spoke her eyes were distant as she remembered.

"They came at night; most of the men here were there." She paused; gathering her thoughts. "Mama and I hid in our house, they didn't normally come into the houses but this time they did. Bertrand had me by the arm and was dragging me from the house. Mama tried to stop him and he shot her." Her voice caught for a moment and she paused, taking a deep breath. "He dragged me outside but I struggled and managed to bite his hand. He let me go but gave me this." She reached up and ran a finger along the bruise that was now just starting to fade. "I set out to find you the next day." She looked up and Athos thought, running all that she had told him through his mind. After a while he spoke.

"He killed everyone who challenged him and yet he didn't kill you." His voice was quiet as he mused.

"You think he should have?" Clara looked incredulous.

"Of course not; it just breaks the pattern."

"A moment of kindness, perhaps." Her tone was sardonic and he answered with a wry smile.

"Unlikely." He sighed and she rested her head on his shoulder once more. He lowered his head, pressing his lips against her hair for a moment before resting his cheek against her head and closing his eyes.

Porthos, Aramis and d'Artagnan urged their tired horses along the road, following the cart tracks. It had not taken them too much longer in the barn to realise that their friend and the girl were in trouble and the only thought running through each of their minds now was the hope that they were still alive.

Aramis crouched on the ground, studying the cart tracks and footprints. He felt the first rain drops hit the back of his neck and glared at the sky in frustration before swinging himself back up onto his horse.

"We're not far behind at all, perhaps another hour. That cart is slowing them down."

"Well they might stop if we're lucky, look." D'Artagnan nodded and the musketeers followed his gaze to the darkening sky, threatening far more rain than was currently falling. As the wind whipped up, bringing on the threatened storm the three riders pulled their cloaks about them and continued along the road.

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**Well there we go, what do you think :-)**


	9. Chapter 9

**Well here we go, next one. Thank you to athosfan for the review. Hope you enjoy :-)**

**Musketeers not mine :-(**

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Athos jolted awake as Clara was pulled away from him. He heard her scream and looked around; some of the men had dragged her from the cart and now began to pull her away. Her eyes met his and he struggled against the rope, roaring in frustration and anger. He struggled against the rope but it was unyielding and he growled in pain as he felt the stitches in his shoulder pull. The pain brought him back to his senses and he stopped struggling, not wanting to rip the stitches out.

Clara screamed as the men dragged her over to their fire, they laughed as they began to push her back and forth, one catching her before passing her to the next. Athos watched, knowing what was going to come and yet powerless to stop it. He looked up when Simon appeared, leaning his arms on the side of the cart.

"I told you men get bored."

"Make them stop."

"Why?" The boy looked over his shoulder at the laughing men and stood, making his way around the cart, his eyes fixed on the musketeer. He stopped when he stood behind Athos, and once more leant on the cart, his arms resting behind the other mans' shoulders. "What is she to you? Sister? Lover? Or just a whore you like?" He caught the rope that tied Athos to the cart as the musketeer tried to swing round and pulled; jerking his wrists up against the side of the cart and jolting his shoulder. Athos hissed in pain and Simon glanced at him, smiling. "No matter; tonight she's theirs and tomorrow you both go to Bertrand. Until then, maybe you can watch, enjoy the view." He clapped a hand down on Athos' injured shoulder and laughed as he walked away.

Aramis, Porthos and d'Artagnan followed the tracks of the cart, each watching carefully. They knew they were catching up, the tracks were fresh and they each hoped that soon they would find their friend. Suddenly Porthos brought his horse alongside Aramis' and pointed up ahead.

"Look." Aramis looked in the direction his friend had indicated; in the trees a light flickered.

"Looks promising." They dismounted and led their horses to the edge of the trees, tethering them and walking forwards. They heard laughter and as they moved forwards they could hear shouts. They stopped when they heard the first scream.

Quietly they drew their pistols, moving forward carefully until they could see through the trees. Aramis frowned as he surveyed the scene, he could see several men pushing Clara back and forth, the firelight showing the tears that ran down her face. Across the camp was a cart and not far away a shape that looked very much like Athos' horse.

Clara screamed again and both musketeers reached out, gripping d'Artagnan as he started forwards.

"Not yet, boy." Porthos kept a heavy hand on the young Gascons' shoulder, gripping his cloak.

"We have to do something." Aramis raised an eyebrow.

"Yes but not running in head first, guns blazing and no thought involved." He caught Porthos' look.

"Isn't that what we normally do?"

"You perhaps, but I like to engage my brain and preferably not get killed."

They watched as a man caught Clara as she was pushed towards him; instead of pushing her to the next man he laughed and twisted his fingers into her hair.

"Come on, girl, time for some fun." The other men laughed as he pulled Clara into the trees.

Aramis glanced at Porthos and they nodded at each other, not needing to say anything. D'Artagnan watched as Aramis turned and disappeared into the trees, drawing his dagger as he did so.

"So what do we do while he's playing the dashing hero?" Porthos smiled, his eyes twinkling in the dark

"We wait until it's time."

"And that is when?"

"You'll know, don't worry." D'Artagnan sighed and rolled his eyes, turning back to watch the men.

Clara struggled as the man dragged her into the trees; it was the same one who had threatened her earlier and his cruel grin did nothing to hide his intentions or his enjoyment. He threw her to the ground, kicking her viciously as she tried to move away.

"Time for you to learn those manners." He grasped the rope around her wrists and pinned her to the floor, his other hand grasping at the bottom of her dress. She screamed and struggled, trying to free her leg in the hope that she could kick him away. "No use struggling, girl; there's no one here for you except a dozen other men."

"Not quite true." The man froze, his mouth working soundlessly and his eyes wide. Clara gasped as he was pulled away from her and she saw the dagger wound in his neck. A hand reached for her and she flinched away. "Shh shh, it's alright." The voice was quiet and she recognised it, looking up she met the kind brown eyes of one of the musketeers she had first met in Paris.

"How..?"

"Don't worry about that." He reached out and carefully pulled her dress back over her legs before helping her to her feet. "I don't think we've been properly introduced, mademoiselle. I'm Aramis, of the King's musketeers." He gave her a friendly smile.

"Clara." She returned his smile and he cut the ropes from her wrists, frowning when he saw the marks they had left.

"I'll see to those injuries later." He looked up, meeting her eyes. "Where is Athos?"

"Tied to the cart, he's wounded." She saw him close his eyes briefly.

"I thought as much." He turned, drawing his pistol. "Stay here, I'll come back for you when we've dealt with these _men_." He almost spat the last word and was grateful when the girl didn't argue.

Clara watched as he crept forwards through the trees until he had a clear line of sight to the men. His movements were slow and graceful as he held out his pistol, aiming for only a second before firing into the group.

Porthos and d'Artagnan heard the shot and watched as one of the men fell to the ground.

"That's our cue." Porthos raised his own pistol and fired into the camp, dropping another man. He drew his sword and as d'Artagnan fired his own pistol the big man charged into the camp, closely followed by the Gascon.

The bandits were in a state of confusion as the three pistols fired one after the other, each causing a man to fall to the ground, his eyes staring. Seconds later three men charged into the camp, each one armed and with a fierce look of determination on his face.

As the first shot rang out, Simon ran back towards the cart. He gripped Athos by the hair, pressing a knife to his throat.

"Are these your friends?" His voice was a hiss and Athos smiled at the uncertainty in the boys' voice as he watched Aramis neatly dispatch two men. "No matter." He struck with the speed of a snake, driving the hilt of the knife into the side of Athos' head and leaving him stunned as he turned away into the trees.

It did not take the two musketeers and their young friend long to dispatch the rest of the men. As he turned away from the last man, Aramis looked at d'Artagnan.

"See; and that is why we don't run in face first. Surprise is everything."

"Point taken." Aramis nodded in satisfaction, confident that a lesson had been learned, at least in part. He sheathed his sword and looked towards the cart, jogging across the camp, closely followed by the others.

"Athos." When Aramis saw his friend slumped in the cart he felt rage and worry building in his chest. He climbed onto the rickety old transport and took a breath, suppressing his rage with concern for his friend.

"They tied him up like an animal." Porthos' voice was a growl and the big musketeer drew his dagger, making short work of the rope.

Athos groaned as Aramis shook his shoulder and his eyes opened, he frowned as he struggled to focus on the faces in front of him.

"I'm never going to shake you three off am I?" They smiled in relief as he greeted them with his normal enthusiasm.

"Well be thankful for it. I think you managed to get yourself into a spot of trouble." Aramis gripped him by the arm, helping him to sit up.

"Anyone ever tell you that you're an idiot?" Porthos grinned as Athos glared at him.

"No, but I imagine you will."

"Come on; let's get you back on the ground." D'Artagnan had climbed up to help. "I'll bet you're sick of this cart." Athos winced as he shifted.

"I've had better modes of transport." He looked around, blue eyes darting around the camp. "Where's Clara?"

"She's safe in the trees, I'll go and fetch her." Aramis left him leaning on d'Artagnan and turned back, heading to where he had left the girl.

He had only been gone a few moments when he ran back into the camp.

"She's gone." His eyes darted around. "I left her hidden, she should have been safe." He watched as Athos looked around, searching the faces of the dead men.

"He took her."

"Who?" D'Artagnan looked puzzled.

"The boy who was leading them, his name's Simon. He disappeared when you arrived; he must have cut his losses and taken her to Bertrand."

"We'll have a job tracking him if he's on foot in the dark." Porthos was glowering.

"We don't need to track them; I know where they're going. There's a cave in the woods not far from here; it's where Bertrand is based."

"Then we'll go after them but not yet." Aramis caught their looks and continued before any of them could object. "It's too dark for an assault on a cave when we don't know how many men could be there." He turned his gaze to Athos who still leant heavily on d'Artagnan. "Athos you can barely stand, never mind fight. If we rest for a couple of hours then you might be alright, but you're no good to Clara in your present state." He watched as his words sank in and was glad when Athos nodded, realising he was right. Without another word they headed into the trees to find somewhere to make their own camp.

Simon gripped Clara's arm as he pulled her through the woods. She followed him, the knife in his hand and murder in his eyes enough of a warning to prevent her trying to run. Although she had not often come to these woods once she had started working in the house she could still remember them and knew that it would not take them long to reach the cave.

She was right; it only took them an hour to reach their destination. Simon gripped the back of her dress, pushing her roughly when she hesitated at the entrance. The passage in the rock was as she remembered and after a short while they entered the main cave. Clara's breath hitched when she saw Bertrand, his face lit by a torch on the wall. He stepped forwards, his cruel eyes running over the girl and her captor.

"Well well look who it is." His voice was soft as he stalked towards her. He reached out a hand, brushing his fingers over the bruise on her cheek. When she turned her head away he shifted his hand, gripping the back of her neck and pulling her towards him. He did not look away from her as he addressed Simon.

"Where are the others?" For the first time, Clara felt Simon quake.

"Dead, the musketeer's friends came and..."

"Musketeer's friends?" Bertrand looked up sharply, his eyes demanding an explanation.

"She was with a musketeer; I had to leave him behind to bring her to you."

"And did he have a name, this musketeer?" Bertrand's voice was low and dangerous.

"Athos." At the sound of the name, Bertrand threw Clara to the floor, she watched as he struck Simon across the face and gripped the boy's collar.

"You mean you had both of them and you let him go?"

"I told you, his friends attacked, I couldn't bring them both." Simon cowered away from the hand that raised once again. "He cares for her, Bertrand. He might come after her." He breathed a sigh of relief as the leader let him go before turning back to look at the girl.

"Oh I'm counting on it." He crouched in front of Clara, gripping her neck again and stroking her cheek with his other hand. "I've waited years for you to bring him to me and now you finally have." He smiled as realisation and horror dawned in Clara's eyes. "Yes, girl; ever since he banished me because of you I've waited for a chance at him and now you've made it possible."

He released her and stood, picking up the torch and beckoning for Simon to follow him. As they left Clara wrapped her arms around her knees, reeling from the realisation that she had unwittingly led Athos into a trap.

"Athos." As she whispered his name like a prayer into the dark, Clara hoped that he would come for her. At the same time she dreaded what would happen when he did.

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**Well there we go, what did you think? :-)**


	10. Chapter 10

**Quick update for you this time, I must be feeling nice :-) Thank you to everyone reading and a special thank you to eponay for the fantastic review :-) Hope you enjoy.**

**I don't own the Musketeers.**

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"Well your stitches are still in place." Aramis looked once more at Athos' shoulder before pulling the bandages back into place. "That's fine needlework, almost better than mine." He smiled at his friend.

"She was well taught." Athos' gaze was distant and Aramis sat back on his heels, gazing steadily at his friend, dark eyes searching his face.

"Who is she?" Athos met his gaze, in his eyes there was guilt and sadness, mixed with what Aramis thought was a trace of fear. "We're your brothers, Athos; we won't judge you for anything. But you all but fled from us to help her. If it was to stop us from finding out what was going on I think it's a bit late now."

"Would be nice to know who you almost got yourself killed for." Porthos had ambled over and leant against a tree; his earnest gaze fixed on the two men he considered his brothers. D'Artagnan was not far away; his back set against one of the trees. Athos looked from one to the other, realising that he had no choice and that he had already held too much back from them this time. He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as he gathered his thoughts, trying to work out the best way to tell them.

"Clara grew up in one of the villages on my estates; her mother was my fathers' housekeeper and mine later. I first met her when I was ten and she was five. My brother had led her over a rotting log and ran to find me when it split, leaving her hanging over a river. I pulled her from the river as she fell." He paused glancing at his friends, none of them moved or spoke except Aramis who nodded for him to continue. "At first it seemed like it was my duty to fix the messes my brother caused; Clara was strong willed but she adored Thomas and would follow him anywhere. I lost count of the amount of times he got her into trouble and decided to take care of her." He paused again, his eyes distant with memory.

"I'm guessing it didn't stay as duty." Porthos' voice was quiet and Athos shook his head, a small smile ghosting his features.

"In time she grew to be more like a sister to us; we taught her to ride and even to shoot. Over the years she grew beautiful; it was that, along with a kind heart and easy smiles that got her into more trouble than anything else. When she was fifteen I brought her to work in the house, it seemed to be the safest place for her, or so I thought."

"What happened?" D'Artagnan had moved away from the tree, coming closer as Athos told his story.

"Something to do with this Bertrand I would imagine." Aramis spoke quietly and Athos nodded.

"He was always a mean natured man, but Thomas had persuaded me to give him work in the stables, hoping that he might change if he had a purpose." He took a breath as the image that was burned into his mind flashed once more before his eyes. "I found him with Clara pinned against a wall; he had her by the throat and was trying to undress her. I had never seen her so terrified. I banished him, telling him never to return if he valued his life." He stopped, unsure if he needed or wanted to tell them anything else.

"So all of this for a girl who was your best friend?" Porthos looked at him, his brown eyes soft with understanding.

"For a friend who was the closest thing my brother and I had to a sister." He saw them nod, each understanding what it was like to have friends who you were devoted to. Aramis reached out, gently laying a hand on his shoulder.

"Well next time you have an attractive friend who needs help, let us know and we can all join in." He stood, flashing a bright smile at his friend and moving away, glancing meaningfully at the other two as he did. They took his meaning and moved away, leaving Athos with his thoughts.

As they settled down to sleep Athos rested his head back against the tree and closed his eyes, his thoughts turning to what he hadn't told them and his most painful memories of Clara.

_The day had been bright and he had looked out of the window, gazing across the fields that surrounded the house. He had seen Clara making her way to the house with a basket of apples in her arms; she had walked gracefully, the basket balanced on her hip and her hair blowing in the soft breeze. He smiled as he saw Thomas sneaking up behind her and watched as his brother reached out and tugged at her hair. She had spun around, laughing when she saw who it was and had swiped his hand away when he tried to steal one of the apples, they had walked back to the house, smiling and laughing as they went._

_It had been a few hours later when he came across her in the dining room, arranging some of the apples in a bowl on the table. She smiled when she saw him, her dark eyes bright and happy and he had placed a hand on her shoulder in greeting._

_"Clara, have you seen Thomas?"_

_"Not for a while, have you lost him?" _

_"Yes."_

_"Well that was careless." She laughed and he gave her a wry smile. "I need to clean his rooms next; if I see him then I'll tell him you're looking for him." He nodded his thanks and left, brushing a hand over her shoulder once more as he did so._

_The door had not quite closed behind him when he heard the one at the other end of the room open. He turned to see if it was Thomas and paused when he saw his wife enter the room. She stood, surveying Clara who had dropped into a low curtsey, her head bowed and her eyes downcast. As he watched she moved towards the girl, he could have sworn there was almost a sneer on her face. She reached out a hand, placing her fingers under Clara's chin and lifting it._

_"Look at me." Clara's eyes flickered up, meeting the other woman's gaze. "Such enchanting eyes; no wonder you have your lord and his brother so captivated. You should not keep them so downcast, my dear; it would be unfair if they were the only ones to see them." She released the girl and turned away, moving to the window. "On with your work now, pretty one. I'm sure you have plenty to do." Clara stood and with a final glance over her shoulder turned and hurried from the room._

_Athos had re-entered the room and she had faced him, turning the full force of her gaze upon him. He was uncertain what to say, not even sure what he had just witnessed. She had spoken first._

_"She's a beauty, your little Clara. It almost seems a shame to keep her hidden away in the house."_

_"She's safe here."_

_"And tempting, no doubt. Beauty and innocence combined; what man could resist?" He had been about to reply when a scream had echoed through the house. He had looked at his wife once more before turning and running from the room._

_He had recognised the scream as Clara's and ran up the stairs to his brother's rooms, knowing that had been her destination. He almost skidded to a halt in the hallway; the door to Thomas' rooms was open and he ran in, unprepared for what he would find._

_Clara knelt on the floor, her hands pressed over the wound in his brother's chest as blood bubbled from it, staining her hands red to the wrist. She turned to look at him, tears running down her face._

_"What happened?" He had run to Thomas and lifted him, cradling his little brother in his arms._

_"I don't know; I came in here and found him like this." Thomas gasped in pain, his eyes fluttering open._

_"She...criminal."_

_"Who?" Athos' gaze had darkened as he heard his brother's words._

_"Wife." Thomas lifted his hand, pointing to his bed. "Box...letters" Clara scrambled to the bed, reaching under it and pulling out a box. Inside were letters and papers. Thomas took a shuddering breath. "They show that your wife is...criminal...not who she says...I told her I knew...tried to stop me." He gasped and choked, gripping his brother's hand as pain overtook him. Then his grip loosened and his breath shuddered once more, his head falling to one side as the life left him._

_"Thomas." Athos had shaken him and had realised in horror that his little brother was gone. Numbly he lay him down, hearing Clara's sobs. He had not been able to tear his gaze from his brothers' pale face as he reached for Clara, pulling her into his arms. _

_They had sat for a long time, holding each other in their grief. Clara's mother had eventually found them and even through her own grief and shock had been able to organise a few men to move Thomas' body and kept the rest of the servants away. She had led them both to another room and brought water, cleaning the blood from their hands and bringing them fresh clothes. Athos had been numb and almost unresponsive as she cared for him as though he was her own son. Once she had handed him a fresh shirt he had risen to his feet, determined to seek justice for his younger brother._

_He had been filled with guilt and grief in the days that followed, barely even able to look at Clara and see her own grief written on her face. He sat slumped at the table in the dining room, clutching a bottle of wine and waiting for his housekeeper to appear. After a few more moments she entered, dropping a brief curtsey and looking at the wine in his hand, her disapproval obvious._

_"Annette, I've decided to close the house."_

_"If that is what you wish. When?" Her gaze was steady, the same dark eyes as her daughter regarding him._

_"As soon as possible, see to the details." She nodded._

_"Is that all?"_

_"Not quite. Clara will find it hard, will you tell her?"_

_"No." He looked up at her short reply and she lifted her chin. "I understand that your heart is grieving and broken, Athos. But if you wish to break my daughters' heart then you must do it yourself." With a final nod she had turned and left the room, leaving him to his wine and guilt._

_When he had found Clara later that day she had been looking out of the window across the fields. _

_"Clara?" She had turned to face him, her eyes full of sadness and he could tell that she knew what he was about to say._

_"You're leaving aren't you?" Her voice was full of unshed tears._

_"Did your mother tell you?"_

_"She didn't have to; you can't stand this place anymore. You've barely spoken to me since it happened."_

_"I can't stay." She had looked away and nodded, fighting back tears._

_"Where will you go?"_

_"Paris; perhaps the musketeers in time."_

_"Seeking death on the end of a sword blade." Her voice was bitter and she turned away, one hand moving to her stomach, almost as though she was trying to hold her grief in. "Just a few days and I will have lost you both." Her voice broke and her shoulders began to shake as her grief at last overcame her. He said nothing and reached for her, wrapping his arms around her. She turned into him, burying her face against his chest and letting her tears flow._

_It had taken Annette a matter of days to organise closing the house; running it with the same efficiency that she did everything else. By the time he was ready to leave for Paris, only she and Clara remained behind. He watched as she locked the house and handed him the key. He nodded gratefully and tucked the key into his bag._

_"Remember to find me if you or Clara need anything." She nodded and laid a hand on his arm._

_"You take care of yourself, dear boy." He nodded briefly and she turned away, leaving him with Clara. They turned and walked in silence, heading towards the border of his estate._

_Eventually they came to the edge of his lands, stopping under a huge oak tree and he turned to her, unsure of what to say. She looked at him, only her eyes showing the grief she felt._

_"You're not coming back are you?" Her voice was quiet and resigned._

_"No." As he looked at her, the sun fell on her face, lighting up her pale skin and dark hair. Her grief had leant something extra to her features, a fragility that had not been there before and he thought that in that moment she was more beautiful than she had ever been. He pulled her to him, wrapping his arms around her and holding her tightly. She clung to him as though she would never release him and he buried his face in her hair. "If you need anything you find me, I don't care what it is." He felt her nod against his chest and after a while longer released her._

_She stood back as he swung himself onto his horse and her eyes found his. When she spoke her voice was almost a whisper._

_"Goodbye." He reached down and rested one hand on her cheek, unable to say that final word. She closed her eyes and he sat straight, kicking his heels in and setting the horse along the road._

_When he reached the first bend in the road he halted and turned in the saddle, looking back. Clara still stood under the oak, watching him go. He watched as she broke down; one hand on the tree, supporting herself and the other thrown across her stomach as she cried. For a moment he thought of going back to her, the knowledge that he had caused her grief almost too much to bear. But he knew that if he went back he would never leave. _

_He sighed and turned away, kicking the horse on towards Paris._

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**Well there we go, hope you enjoyed :-)**


	11. Chapter 11

**Right, here we go. So sorry I haven't updated for ages, been struggling with this one.**

**Musketeers not mine, I'm just borrowing them for a bit then I'll put them back.**

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D'Artagnan woke as the dawn light filtered through the trees. He sat up, stretching his cold muscles and looking around. The others still slept; he could hear Aramis' steady breathing and Porthos snoring gently. Athos lay slightly apart from the others, his head pillowed on his good arm. Despite his breathing being steady, his face was still troubled and d'Artagnan knew that he hadn't told them everything. The Gascon rose to his feet and glanced around the small clearing, when he looked back; Athos was awake, his blue eyes regarding the boy. D'Artagnan wandered over to him as he pushed himself into as sitting position and crouched next to him.

"How are you?"

"Fine and fit." Athos winced as he pushed himself to his feet and the boy quirked an eyebrow at him.

"Really?" D'Artagnan crossed his arms and Athos glared at him.

"Enough to do what must be done." He nodded towards where Aramis and Porthos slept. "We should wake them." D'Artagnan nodded and moved across the clearing, stooping to pick up a small stone on the way. Athos watched the boy crouch next to Aramis and shake his shoulder. When he turned towards Porthos, Aramis placed a hand on his arm.

"Careful; waking him up tends to result in injuries." The boy merely grinned and hefted the stone in his hand. His wrist flicked and the stone landed squarely on Porthos' chest. The big musketeer awoke with a roar and sat up, glaring around as he heard d'Artagnan and Aramis laughing.

"You've been teaching him tricks." Porthos glowered at Aramis who only grinned.

"Tricks of self preservation perhaps; anything helps." He glanced over at Athos, noting with slight relief that the older man had cracked a wry smile.

"He said he was fine." D'Artagnans' voice was barely audible behind him and Aramis nodded before rising to his feet and moving across the clearing. As he approached Athos he appraised him carefully.

"How are you feeling?"

"Well enough." Although Athos' gaze was steady, Aramis could see that his breaths were measured. He raised an eyebrow at his friend and moved forwards.

"Forgive me if I don't believe you." He ignored Athos' glare and pulled his jerkin aside, carefully inspecting the wound.

"It's starting to heal but you're still in no condition to fight."

"Well let's just be thankful it's the left shoulder and not the right."

"You are the most stubborn man I know."

"I abandoned her once; I won't do it again."

"I understand." Aramis watched as Athos nodded his thanks and pulled his jerking back over his shoulder, gritting his teeth as he did so. "We had best get started then; the sooner this is over the sooner you can rest that shoulder."

They looked up at the sound of footsteps and saw Porthos approaching, holding a bundle wrapped in a travelling cloak.

"If we're heading off you might want these." He unwrapped the cloak with a flourish and Athos saw the sword, dagger and pistol in his hands. As Athos nodded gratefully and buckled his weapons around his waist; Porthos and Aramis shared a glance, their concern for their friend written in both of their faces. As Athos looked up, Aramis put on a bright smile.

"Well it's a good thing they brought your horse with them; not sure I'm willing to share mine." Athos' retort was cut off by d'Artagnan stepping forwards, leading both his and Athos' horses.

"So where are we going?"

"To the caves." Without another word they mounted the horses and followed Athos as he guided his horse through the trees.

Clara sat in the darkness of the cave; she could hear Bertrand and his men moving outside, snatches of their conversation drifting into the cave. Mercifully they had left her alone with the exception of the man standing guard in the rock passage. At first she had paced the cave, her fingers running over the rough rock walls. She did not need to be able to see to know there was no way out; she could remember every detail of the rock walls and the way that the tree roots grew and twisted through the cave roof. Left alone with her thoughts she saw in her minds' eye the form of Athos slumped in the cart as Simon had dragged her away.

She looked up as voices approached and shielded her eyes from the bright torches as men entered the cave. As her eyes adjusted to the light, Clara saw Bertrand smirking at her, a rope in his hands.

"Time to play, girl."

The musketeers and d'Artagnan had ridden for less than an hour when Athos held up his hand to stop them. He dismounted and tied his horse to one of the tree branches, the others followed suit, not questioning him. He gazed through the trees for a moment before turning to them as they waited.

"The caves are a short way through the trees; we must assume they will have men watching."

"We'd best deal with them quietly then." Porthos grinned and drew his sword.

They made their way through the trees, moving as quietly as they were able. They had not gone far when they came to the top of a low rise and looked over the top. The ground dipped on the other side, creating a deep bowl in the land. Against one of the far walls of the dip they saw the entrance to the cave through the trees. A group of men were outside; leaning against trees or resting on the ground. Despite their lazy demeanour, they were all armed.

"Fine guards these are." D'Artagnans' derision was clear.

"Fine or not, we are still heavily outnumbered." Athos' eyes narrowed as he spotted Simon amongst the men.

"We'd best stay hidden then and keep moving. If we're lucky we might be able to take a fair number out before they can come after us." Aramis lifted his musket as he spoke, glancing at the men.

"Fine; d'Artagnan with me, Porthos go with Aramis." They nodded and moved without another word, heading in opposite directions around the ridge.

After they had gone a short distance Athos paused and d'Artagnan glanced at him as he carefully aimed his pistol into the group. He fired and d'Artagnan could have sworn he saw Athos frown when one of the men fell. The boy who had been standing behind the now dead man looked up, his cold gaze sweeping the ridge and trees. From the other side of the ridge they heard the sound of pistols and more men dropped to the ground. D'Artagnan fired his pistol and as he began to reload he heard the boy shouting orders and saw the men begin to run up the slope to the ridge.

They fired at the advancing men, each painfully aware that they were heavily outnumbered despite the men that fell to each sound of their pistols. As the first men reached the top of the ridge Athos flipped his pistol round and drew his sword; neatly spearing the point into a man's throat as he reached the top of the ridge. To his side he could see d'Artagnan, the boy taking down men with each thrust and swing of his sword. As he killed another man he could see the shapes of Aramis and Porthos as they fought their way through the men that had gone after them.

Eventually the last man who had run up the slope fell; his chest slashed by Porthos' sword. They paused, looking down the slope; Simon stood with a small group of men he had kept behind. The musketeers and d'Artagnan did not hesitate before running down the slope and charging into the group, each of them dealing death mercilessly. Athos barely glanced at any man unlucky enough to cross his path as he made his way towards Simon. The boy saw him coming and raised the sword in his hand but a single powerful blow sent the blade spinning across the floor. Athos pressed the tip of his sword into the hollow at the base of the boy's throat, his breathing harsh with anger.

"On your knees." Simon did not hesitate to follow the snarled command, dropping to the floor. For the first time Athos saw fear in the cold brown eyes and noted the dark bruise that ran down the side of his eye and along his cheek.

"Athos." Aramis' voice was quiet and Athos realised that Simon was the only one of the men still alive.

"Where is she?" His voice was almost a growl and he pressed his sword forward. A grip on his arm stopped him and he saw Porthos out the corner of his eye.

"Easy, he can't talk if you put a sword through his throat." The big musketeer kept his grip on his friend's arm and turned to the boy that knelt before them. "You'd best tell him what he wants to know; I ain't gonna hold him all day."

"Bertrand has her; he's keeping her with him in the cave, said they were going to have some fun." Some f the fear had left the boy's eyes to be replaced with a savage glee when he saw them all glance towards the cave.

"If you've harmed her..." Athos eyes were blazing and he fought against the grip on his arm, his muscles tightening beneath Porthos' grip.

Simon laughed as he realised that he was not going to survive this and if he did then Bertrand would most likely kill him. His hand found the small knife that he always kept in his boot; if he wasn't going to survive then he would at least take this one with him. He shifted his hand, sliding the sword away from his neck and leapt forwards.

Porthos saw the boy move and released Athos, raising his own sword as he did so. There was no need, Athos had drawn his dagger as soon as Simon had moved and stepped to the side, driving the blade into the boys' chest and allowing his own momentum to carry him up the length of the weapon. As the boy fell to the ground, his lifeblood bubbling onto the floor Athos gazed down, his blue eyes cold.

"That was more mercy than you deserve." He looked up at the others, wincing as his shoulder throbbed; they said nothing for a moment until Aramis stepped forwards.

"Gentlemen, I believe a lady is in need of our assistance."


	12. Chapter 12

**Good lord you guys seemed to enjoy that last one, so here's the next one for you :-) Many thanks to I read not write, dg101, Chloe and thedragonempress for your reviews. It's those that keep me going :-)**

**Musketeers not mine, just borrowing then I suppose I'll put them back.**

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They made their way to the entrance of the cave, each of them loading their pistols as they went. As they came to the rock passage Athos felt rage building; he knew Clara was in there and unwelcome thoughts filled his head of what might have happened to her. Bracing himself for what he might find he ran into the cave.

"Bertrand." Athos' voice echoed through the cave. They ran through the narrow passage; Athos surprised that his feet were still sure on the uneven rock after so many years. After a few more steps they burst from the passage and into the main cave.

Clara stood in the centre of the cavern, her wrists tied above her head to one of the tree roots that grew through the roof. Athos felt rage fill his chest when he saw her; they had tied her wrists so high that her feet barely touched the ground. She looked at him, her eyes scared and pleading.

Athos leapt forwards and her eyes widened. Suddenly there was movement behind her and Athos froze as Bertrand emerged from the shadows, a pistol pointed at Clara's head. He smiled; his features as cruel and spiteful as Athos remembered. He moved towards Clara, standing behind her to shield himself from the four pistols pointed at him.

"I knew you'd come." His gaze had fixed on Athos. "I knew that if I scared her for long enough then she would find you and bring you back."

"Well I'm here; let her go." Bertrand's laughter echoed through the cavern.

"Let her go? She's the reason you banished me. Any other girl and you wouldn't have cared, but for your pretty little favourite..."

"No." Athos cut him off. "Any other girl then I would have done the same. But I see now that for her I should have killed you." He stepped forwards and Bertrand raised the pistol, pressing it against Clara's neck.

"One more step, _my lord_ and your little whore dies."

"She is no whore." Athos' voice was a hiss.

"No, just a little flirt who wouldn't give up what her eyes were promising." He pressed the pistol harder against Clara's neck and she hissed in pain. "So if she's not your whore, does that mean you won't get jealous?" His other hand snaked around Clara's waist, running down over her bodice and taking a handful of her skirts, pulling them up to expose her legs.

D'Artagnan glanced at Athos; his entire body was trembling with rage. He didn't know what to do and he could see that the others didn't either. Bertrand's position behind Clara made a shot almost impossible.

Bertrand had realised this too and became bolder, knowing that Athos would not endanger the girl. He was enjoying this; he could see the rage in the other mans' eyes and feel the girl tremble beneath his hand. He had waited years to have them both in his power and he was going to enjoy every moment. He moved closer to Clara, pressing himself against her, his eyes fixed on Athos, watching the rage build in his eyes.

That was his mistake. Aramis saw his leg emerge from behind the girl as he moved closer to her. He raised his pistol and fired; Bertrand's attention was so focused on Athos he did not see the other musketeer move.

Athos, d'Artagnan and Porthos heard the pistol shot and Bertrand screamed, falling to the ground as his leg shattered. They leapt forwards as one. Porthos ran at Clara, slicing through the rope with a swing of his heavy sword. He caught her arm as she fell and half carried, half pulled her back across the cave.

Aramis and d'Artagnan ran to Bertrand, each pointing a blade at him. Athos glanced at Clara and seeing that she was safe; turned and advanced on Bertrand with death in his eyes. He raised his pistol and Aramis shook his head.

"Athos." His voice was a warning and his gaze flickered over his friend's shoulder. Athos hesitated and looked back at Clara, her eyes were wide in fear. He took a breath to steady himself and turned back to the man on the floor.

"You will come with us back to the village; and there you will hang for what you have done." He looked at Aramis. "Make sure he lives until we get there." Aramis nodded and Athos turned away, walking back towards where Porthos stood, one arm wrapped protectively around Clara's waist.

Bertrand growled in pain and anger as he watched his revenge fall away. He felt something on the ground beneath him and realised what it was.

As Athos walked back towards her, Clara saw Bertrand move. He kicked out at Aramis, knocking him aside and his arm emerged from beneath him, hand clutching the pistol.

"Athos." She cried out, and Porthos felt her jump as the shot rang through the cave. Her cry had saved Athos; he turned as the pistol fired, moving out of the way just in time.

D'Artagnan thrust his sword forwards and at the same time Athos fired his pistol. Bertrand fell to the floor, his eyes wide and staring.

"He moved so fast." The Gascon boy looked shocked. "I'm sorry."

"No matter." Athos placed a hand on the boy's shoulder and quirked an eyebrow at Aramis as he stood and dusted himself off. Shaking his head he turned back to Clara; all of the colour had drained from her face and her gaze was fixed on Bertrand. She looked up as he moved towards her.

"Is he gone?" Her voice was quiet.

"Yes, it's over." She nodded in relief and made to step towards him. As she did her legs buckled beneath her. Porthos caught her as she fell and she slumped against his chest as Athos reached them.

"Clara?" He brushed her hair away from her face and forced her to look at him. "What has he done to you?"

"Looks like he didn't miss after all." Her hands fell away from where she had clasped them across her stomach.

They were covered in blood.

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**Next one soon I promise :-)**


	13. Chapter 13

**Well here we go, the penultimate chapter, hope you enjoy it :-) Many thanks to CharlieCasualtyTamx, obh614 and LittleMsFanGirl55 for the reviews.**

**Musketeers not mine, just borrowing then I'll put them back.**

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"Aramis." Athos voice boomed across the cave and it took only a moment for the other musketeer to cross the cave. He knelt down and looked at the girl, dark eyes full of concern.

"I need more light." He looked up at Porthos and the big musketeer did not need his friend to say any more. Without a word he pulled Clara's arm around his shoulders and slipped his hands under her body, lifting her effortlessly and carrying her from the cave.

Outside he laid her gently on the ground. Athos knelt beside her, taking her hand as she gasped in pain. Aramis pushed his fingers into the hole in her bodice and tore it open; blood pulsed slowly from the wound, soaking the shirt under her dress. He looked for a moment, then his eyes flickered upwards, meeting Porthos' gaze. Taking a deep breath he stood.

"Athos." Aramis laid a hand on his friend's shoulder and turned, moving a few paces away. Athos glanced up, confusion in his eyes as he met Porthos' gaze. The big musketeer nodded towards where Aramis stood.

"Go on, she'll be alright with me." As the elder man stood, Porthos nodded to d'Artagnan to go with him. When they had moved away he smiled reassuringly down at the girl in his arms, taking her hand as her breath hitched in pain. "Brave girl." His voice was soft but his eyes were worried as he looked towards his friends.

"What do you need?" Athos moved over to where Aramis stood, fidgeting with his sleeves. When his friend looked up, his dark eyes were full of sorrow.

"I can't save her. I'm sorry, Athos."

"What do you mean?" Athos advanced towards him, his stormy eyes threatening.

"The ball has gone into her lower abdomen; no one who takes a shot there can survive." He barely saw Athos leap forwards. In a moment the other man had gripped his collar and slammed him against a tree. D'Artagnan leapt forwards, grasping Athos' shoulder. Aramis did not try to move; he knew what grief and anger could do. He also knew how hard Athos could punch when he chose to.

"Athos this won't help." D'Artagnan spoke quietly, trying to break through the man's anger.

"You've seen this before yourself. You know it's true." Aramis felt the grip on his collar tighten for a moment, then it loosened and Athos' shoulders slumped.

"That shot wasn't meant for her." His voice was quiet and defeated. Aramis clasped the hand that still rested on his collar.

"I know."

"What now?" Aramis and d'Artagnan looked at each other, not used to seeing Athos so helpless.

"It's going to take a long time, hours perhaps. If you need us to stay with her..."

"No." Athos looked up, resolve in his eyes. "I won't leave her again." He looked over to where Porthos sat with Clara. "I'll see her through it." He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders before turning and walking back.

Clara looked up as he crouched beside her and tenderly brushed a strand of hair from her face. He gazed down at her and took a breath to steady himself before he spoke.

"You'll be alright." She smiled at him and grimaced in pain.

"You never could lie to me. Don't try now." Her gaze flickered to Aramis. "It's not good is it?"

"I'm sorry." He shook his head and her breath shuddered as she processed his words. "We need to make camp."

"Not here." The others all looked at Athos as he spoke. The musketeer's gaze was fixed on Clara and she nodded at him, a faint smile ghosting her features. After a moment he squeezed her hand and stood. The others glanced at each other, silently agreeing not to question him.

Clara bit back a cry of pain as Porthos lifted her once more and turned to follow where Athos led. They did not walk far, leading the horses as they made their way through the trees. Eventually Athos stopped in a clearing. A river ran along one side of it, the water gurgling and bubbling as it flowed. There was a gap in the canopy of trees, leaving a clear view to the late morning sky.

"Here."

"What is this place?" Porthos' voice was a low murmur as he gazed around.

"It's where we first met." Clara's voice was quiet against his shoulder. She smiled as she looked at the river where the remains of the fallen tree still lay.

"Never knew he was so sentimental." Porthos heard her soft laugh and made his way carefully forwards.

Aramis and d'Artagnan busied themselves making camp while Athos headed across the clearing with Porthos following. Eventually he stopped next to a tree. It was huge and old with roots that twisted and turned. He turned and looked at Porthos and the big man nodded, not needing any further explanation.

Aramis and d'Artagnan looked up as Porthos walked over to them, and seeing his arms now empty both glanced towards the tree. Athos sat amongst the huge roots; Clara lay against him, her body resting against his chest and her head against his shoulder. They watched as he wrapped his arms around her, one hand moving to stroke her hair.

"So what do we do now?" D'Artagnan turned to the other two.

"We wait. I don't know how long she'll hold on for; but he'll need us when she lets go." Aramis glanced across the clearing.

"How long do you think..?" The boy left the question hanging.

"I've seen people go within a couple of hours and I've seen others last a day." He watched as Clara shuddered in pain. After a short while longer they sat, settling to wait for the end.

Athos held Clara close against his chest; every few minutes he felt her shudder as a wave of pain ran through her and it cut through him. His thoughts travelled back to holding his brother as he too had bled to death. That had been quick; this would not be. He remembered every time he had held Clara in his arms from the first time right here to the last time when he had abandoned her.

"Stop it." She shifted as she spoke, breaking him from his thoughts.

"What?" He looked down at her and she turned her gaze on him.

"You're blaming yourself; I can tell."

"If I hadn't left you..."

"Did you fire the pistol?"

"No."

"Then it's not your fault. It was dangerous to confront them, we both knew it."

"But..."

"Enough." Her breath hitched in pain and she shifted in his arms. "I'm asking you not to blame yourself for this; and as I'm the one laying here, you have to indulge me."

"I always have." She smiled and he bent to kiss her hair.

Although Aramis, Porthos and d'Artagnan were exhausted, none of them slept in the hours that followed. Porthos and d'Artagnan shifted and moved; grooming the horses, cleaning weapons and doing anything to keep busy. Only Aramis sat still, clasping the gold cross to his lips, his dark eyes full of sorrow.

Although they were not watching Athos and Clara, each was painfully aware of them. Every hitch of the girl's laboured breathing or gasp of pain reminded them that soon she would be gone. Each of them knew the pain that Athos felt; they had all held someone who was dear to them as the life had slipped away. They all dreaded the effect that this particular life would have on Athos; they knew the musketeer already bore heavy burdens on his heart and none of them wished him more.

Aramis watched as Clara gritted her teeth, biting back a cry of pain. He could tell that every sound she made tore through Athos as surely as the shot that had torn through her and he silently offered up another prayer.

_Oh merciful Lord, I know that this girl's life cannot be saved. But for her sake and that of Athos I only ask you please to let her passing be gentle. They have suffered much already, Lord; I beg of you spare them this._

It was a while later when Porthos and d'Artagnan finally sat down, each unable to find anything else to do. Porthos glanced across the clearing and seeing the pained look in his friends' eyes Aramis followed his gaze. Clara's breathing was shallow and she lay still in Athos' arms. It wouldn't be long now.

The sun was just beginning to set when Athos felt Clara's breath hitch and looked down at her; he watched as her eyes shifted around, unfocused.

"Clara." His voice was soft and her eyes flickered up to meet his; even while dull with pain they were still beautiful and he gazed into the rich brown depths.

"I'm glad you came back." Her voice was faint. "I missed you."

"I wish I'd taken you with me."

"I know."

"I missed you more than I can say." She smiled and he held her close, watching as her eyes flickered upwards. She gazed at the sky, watching as the setting sun turned the clouds to a haze of pink and purple and gold. After moment she took a shuddering breath and her gaze flickered back down, not meeting his eyes as she began to speak, her words halting and pained.

"Hail Mary, full of grace, the...the Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou amongst women and blessed...is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus...Holy Mary, m...mother of God..." Her breath shuddered and she grasped his arm. He took a deep breath, fighting the grief in his throat, knowing that she needed him now more than ever.

"Pray for us sinners now, and at the hour of our death." His voice was steady and her eyes flickered to meet his as he finished her prayer and he felt his voice catch in his throat before he continued.

"Amen." Her voice was faint as she managed to say the last word with him. She smiled faintly and nodded. He heard her fight for breath and felt her body tense in his arms. After a moment the tension left her and he heard her sigh. He watched as her eyes closed and felt her head fall back against his shoulder as she slipped away.

The others watched as Clara's eyes closed and her body went still. Each of them felt their own heart grow heavy and bowed their heads, crossing themselves as Athos gathered the girl into his arms and held her, his face buried in her hair.

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**Let me know what you think *ducks for cover from people who liked Clara*. Will have the last chapter up soon xx**


	14. Chapter 14

**Well here we are, the final chapter, thank you everyone who has reviewed/favourited and followed.**

**As usual the Musketeers aren't mine, I'll put them back after this chapter :-)**

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It was Aramis who moved first; carefully making his way across the clearing. He crouched down next to them and reached out a hand, pressing his fingers against Clara's wrist. As he had expected, the flutter of life had gone and he bowed his head once more, placing a hand on Athos' shoulder and crossing himself. Athos did not respond but Aramis knew his touch would help in time. He sat down beside his friend, waiting for him to need him.

Athos kept his face buried in Clara's hair for a long time, unwilling to believe for the moment that she was gone. It was dark when he finally looked up; Aramis still crouched beside him, unmoving and endlessly patient.

"She's..." The word was choked out.

"I know, my friend, I know." Aramis' voice was quiet and steady, not betraying his sorrow at seeing his brother in such pain.

"I should never have left her." Athos' voice was hoarse with grief.

"You stayed with her when she needed you most; a lesser man would have fled but you are still here with her." Athos said nothing and Aramis sat beside him, waiting quietly.

Porthos and d'Artagnan watched as Aramis spoke softly to Athos. He had not moved from their friends' side for an hour, waiting patiently for Athos to move of his own accord.

"So what do we do now?" D'Artagnan could not see how they would pull Athos through this.

"Wait for Aramis to bring him out of the worst of it; he always seems to know what to say." Despite his sorrow at the day's events, Porthos could not hide a note of admiration for his best friend. He watched as Aramis continued to murmur softly to Athos; he had complete faith that Aramis would bring him round but he knew it would take time.

_Pas á pas_

He crouched next to the fire and threw another stick on it, knowing that all they could do was to wait.

Aramis sat with Athos, watching him carefully and speaking softly; he knew he could bring him out of this but as the night closed in he wondered how long he would need. In time, the night grew cold and Athos shivered, the combination of grief, exhaustion and his wound finally beating down his iron will. Although Aramis was willing to give his friend time, he drew the line at letting Athos damage his health any further. He laid a hand on his friends' arm, his touch more firm than before.

"Athos, you need to move." Blue eyes rose to meet his, more full of sorrow than he had ever seen. "We'll lay her to rest tomorrow, but now you must move from here; get some rest or else you'll never heal." He moved his hand, loosening Athos' grip on Clara. The older musketeer did not resist; all of the fight had left him.

Upon seeing Aramis reach to loosen Athos' grip on the girl Porthos had stood, knowing that his friends needed him. He crossed the clearing quickly and quietly, crouching down next to where his friends sat. As Athos slowly released his grip on Clara the big musketeer reached out, pausing when he felt his friends' grip tighten for a second.

"S'alright, Athos, I'll look after her." After a moment more, Athos relinquished his hold and Porthos scooped Clara's body into his arms and lifted her, trying desperately not to look too long at the utter despair in the blue eyes that followed him. He turned and moved back towards the other side of the clearing. D'Artagnan had seen what he was doing and had fetched one of the spare blankets from the saddlebags. As Porthos approached he spread the blanket on the ground and watched as the big musketeer gently laid Clara down. They looked at her for a moment then d'Artagnan reached out and helped Porthos wrap the blanket around her, shaking his head at the senseless death.

When they had finished they looked up to see that Aramis had brought Athos to sit by the fire; his face was pale, grief written across his usually stoic features. He was still shivering when Aramis laid a hand gently on his shoulder and stood, moving over to join them.

"We need blankets and wine." His concern was evident in his eyes.

"How is he?" Porthos' voice was low as he eyed Athos.

"The grief has made him go cold, the exhaustion isn't helping. It's going to be a long night." He looked at his friend, an unspoken conversation seeming to pass between them.

"What am I missing?" D'Artagnan looked from one to the other, finally Aramis sighed before answering.

"Athos suffers from nightmares; it's partly why he drinks so much." His eyes settled on where Clara lay. "This is going to give him nightmares for a month at least so we must help him while we can."

"We don't have that much wine with us." D'Artagnan eyed Athos doubtfully; seeing his mentor and the man he looked up to in such a state unsettled him.

"Well we must give him what we have; I don't normally countenance his drinking and I certainly don't assist it but it may help take the chill from him and ease him enough to get some rest."

They moved to the saddle bags, pulling out what blankets and wine they could find and carrying them over to the fire. Aramis gently slipped a blanket around Athos' shoulders and d'Artagnan uncorked a skin of wine before handing it to him.

Athos sat numbly as his friends cared for him. Although he had not seen Clara in years he had thought she was safe, not necessarily happy but safe. Now to have found out that she had not been safe for years and then to lose her all in the space of a few days was too much. He had lost friends before, that was part of being a soldier, and he expected it to happen.

_But not her._

He felt someone push something into his hands and lifted his eyes to see d'Artagnan, the boys' eyes full of concern and, yes, there it was, pity. He looked away, lifting the skin in his hands to his lips and feeling the sweetness of the wine run over his tongue. It could have been the worst wine in the world for all he cared, as long as it had an alcohol content. But as he gulped it down he knew that all the wine in the world would never be enough tonight.

That night as Aramis had predicted, Athos dreamed, the amount of wine they had brought had not been enough to send him into drunken oblivion.

_Clara ran through the fields on the estate, hair flying wild behind her as she chased him. He watched her from his hiding place in the trees, at thirteen his father had said he was getting too old to play such games but he continued, indulging Clara. She had stopped, looking around the empty field and he snuck up behind her, picking her up and swinging her round as she giggled in delight. She had looked at him, her big brown eyes gazing at him as her arms wrapped around his neck._

_"Will you always be my friend?" He had held her close, bumping his head gently against hers._

_"Of course I will; someone has to keep you out of trouble."_

_"So you won't ever leave?" Her little face had crinkled in a frown, her eyes suddenly solemn._

_"Why would I when I have you here?"_

_"Promise?"_

_"Promise." Her eyes had lit up at that and he had swung her round once more as she laughed._

_Her laughter turned to sobs and he saw her under the tree once more as he had left her. He saw her hand clutching at her stomach as she cried and then blood had leaked from between her fingers. She stood, gazing at him, her blood stained hands reaching for his._

_"You left me. You promised you wouldn't." She looked accusingly at him and he saw with horror that his hands were covered with her blood._

Aramis had moved to crouch next to Athos when he saw him flinch in his sleep; he had volunteered to take the first watch, knowing full well that Athos would dream. As he laid a hand on his friend's shoulder, hoping to offer a little comfort he wondered just what had happened to cause such emotional damage to a man with such a good soul; a point he knew Athos would contest but one he stubbornly believed. Athos moaned in his sleep and Aramis frowned, wondering if he would get punched if he tried to wake him. He was saved the bother when Athos sat up, his eyes wild and his breathing ragged.

"Easy, easy." Aramis grasped his friends' shoulder. "It's alright." He waited until Athos calmed, murmuring softly to him and gently eased him back to the ground, pulling the blanket back over him as he did.

The rest of the night passed with almost no incident and in the morning they set about burying Clara. They rode the short way to the estate, following where Athos led. As the sun rose they came to a small cemetery and Athos stopped beside a grave. They saw the name on the stone; _Thomas._

"Here, next to my brother."

It did not take them long to dig the grave and Porthos and d'Artagnan carried Clara's body to it. Just as they were about to lower her in, Athos stopped them. He knelt and pulled the blanket away, gazing once more on her face. Even in death she was beautiful, her pale face serene. He leant down, pressing his lips to her head and feeling tears in his eyes. He straightened, pulling the blanket back into place and nodding. They lowered her into the grave and he heard Aramis' prayers as they filled it in.

When it was done they mounted the horses and turned, riding back towards Paris.

It was sunset when they arrived back in Paris two days later and they made their way back through the streets to the garrison. They had spoken little and Athos not at all, they did not try and get him to speak, leaving him to grieve quietly.

Treville heard horses clattering into the courtyard and rose from his desk; he knew that all of the musketeer horses were in the stable except five. He went out of his office, fully intending to strangle Athos if he was with them. He reached the balcony and one look at his men told him that all was not well. Aramis looked up at him and gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head, telling Treville all he needed to know. He nodded, indicating that he had understood and sighed before calling down.

"Athos." His voice was commanding but gentle and his best musketeer looked up at him from where he stood next to his horse. Treville turned and to his relief heard footsteps on the stairs a moment later.

As Athos entered, Treville appraised him. He saw that there was a tear in his jerkin and he was favouring his left shoulder, not moving with his usual lazy grace. His eyes were pained and his breaths measured, the captain could tell that the man was barely holding himself together.

"Sir, I must apologise for my foolishness and arrogance in believing that I could deal with this affair myself." He gazed straight ahead, desperately trying to keep his voice steady.

"The bandits?" Treville continued to appraise him, ignoring the statement.

"Finished."

"And Clara?" Athos' breath hitched and Treville's suspicions were confirmed. He watched as the musketeer shook his head, not trusting himself to speak. He looked up when Treville placed a hand on his shoulder. "You did everything you could; I don't need to know what happened to know that. You are my best soldier; loyal, skilled and brave, I could not ask for more from a man and neither could anybody else."

"I failed her." The words were quiet and broken.

"You went back with her; you didn't turn her away and you tried your damndest to help her. I don't call that failing; I call it loyalty and friendship." He patted Athos' shoulder. "Take a few days leave; you're wounded in more ways than one." He turned to the door and Athos led the way, making his way back down the stairs and out of the courtyard. As the others turned to follow him, Treville grasped Aramis' arm.

"Sir?"

"The girl?"

"Shot by the leader of the bandits; it was a trap for Athos, revenge for past justice." Treville quirked an eyebrow at this revelation but did not comment.

"I've given him a few days leave; you and the others take the same."

"Yes, Sir."

"Look after him." Aramis merely nodded and turned, following his friends.

They sat in the tavern, quietly keeping an eye on Athos as he drank himself into oblivion in the corner.

"Will he be alright?" D'Artagnan glanced over.

"I'm not sure he'll ever be alright, but he'll be back to his normal self eventually." Aramis followed his gaze.

"Well, we'll take turns to carry him home until he is." Porthos shuffled a deck of cards.

Athos gazed at the wine in his cup; Clara's and Treville's words echoing round his head.

_I'm asking you not to blame yourself for this_

_I call it loyalty and friendship_

_Always be my friend_

_Indulge me_

As he heard her voice once more, asking him to indulge her he knew that just this once he couldn't; he would always blame himself for this but knowing that she hadn't would help just a little. He felt the others watching him and as he drained the wine in the cup, a realisation struck him.

Although he had lost people, lost Thomas, lost Clara; he still had his friends.

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**Well there we are, hope you liked it, please tell me what you thought.**

**_Pas á pas = step by step._**


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